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LIBRARY OF .CONGRESS, 
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UNITED STATES OP AMERICA. 



I 




LEISURE HOURS. 



Poetic and Artistic Masterpieces 



AN ILLUSTRATED BOOK 



OF THE 



FAVORITE POEMS OF ALL TIMES 

COMPRISING 

HOME AND FIRESIDE, LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP, GLIMPSES OF NATURE, COUNTRY 

LIFE, FREEDOM AND PATRIOTISM, CAMP AND BATTLE, DESCRIPTION AND 

NARRATION, PLACES AND PERSONS, SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION, 

GRIEF AND PATHOS, AND THE BETTER LAND. 



The Best Productions of the Best Authors of all Ages. 



With an Introduction by 

Rev. W. H. MILBURN, D D., 

Chaplain National Senate, Washington, D. C. 



PROFUSELY ILLUSTRATED. 



JUVENILE PUBLISHING CO. 

CHICAGO. 



^\M 



Copyrighted, 1894, 
By ROBERT O. LAW. 



CONTENTS. 



Introduction 



HOME AND FIRESIDE. 

PAGE. 

The Cotter's Saturday Night . . Eobert Burns 17 

Make Home-Life Beautiful . . B. G. Northrup 23 

Songs of Seven Jean Ingelow 24 

The Old Oaken Bucket . . Samuel Woodworth 28 

Graves of a Household . . Felicia D. Hemans 29 

Childhood Home B. P. Shillaber (Mrs. Partington) 30 

Rain on the Roof Coates Kinney 30 

Bairnies, Cuddle Doon . . Alexander Anderson 31 

Old Folks at Home . . Stephen Collins Foster 31 

Home, Sweet Home . . . John Howard Payne 31 

My Old Kentucky Home . Stephen Collins Foster 32 

Be Kind Anonymous 32 

Mothers, Spare Yourselves . . . . Anonymous 32 

In a Strange Laud . . . James TJiomas Fields 33 

The Patter of Little Feet .... Anonymous 33 

Catching Shadows E. Hannaford 34 

A Cradle Hymn Isaac Watts 34 

Joys of Home Sir John Bowring 35 

John Anderson, My Jo ... . Eobert Burns 36 

Christmas Stockings . . . Benjamin F. Taylor 36 

LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 

On the Doorstep . . Edmund Clarence Stedman 37 

The Departure Alfred Tennyson 3S 

First Love . . . . Lord Byron 38 

No Time like the Old Time . . . Anonymous 39 

Mary Morison Eobert Burns 39 

Early Love Samuel Daniel 40 

Cherry-Ripe Bichard Alison 40 

EowDol Love Thee Elizabeth Barrett Browning 40 

Winnifreda Anonymous -11 

Her Likeness . . . Dinah Maria Mulock Craik 41 

Ae Fond Kiss before We Part . . Eobert Burns 41 

My True Love Hath my Heart . Philip Sidney 42 

Love's Philosophy . . . Percy Bysshe Shelley 42 

Good Bye Thomas Moore 42 

How Many Times . . Thomas Lovell Beddoes 43 

Absence Eobert Burns 43 

Coming through the Rye . . . Eobert Burns 43 

Comiii' through the Rye . Adapted from Burns 43 

Hark! Hark! the Lark . . Wm. Shakespeare 43 

O Fairest of the Rural Maids Wm. Cullen Bryant 44 

Rock Me to Sleep Elzi. A. Allen (Florence Percy) 44 

Pack Clouds Away .... Thomas Heywood 45 

Linger not Long Anonymous 45 

Song Gerald Griffin 41 



PAGE. 

Love's Young Dream .... Thomas Moore 46 

Love is Enough Ella Wheeler 46 

If Thou Wert by My Side . . Eeginald Heber 47 

Pain of Love Henry Constable 47 

Bonnie Mary Eobert Burns 48 

Sweet Hand Anonymous 48 

Three Kisses . . . Elizabeth Barrett Browning 49 

To an Absent Wife .... George D. Prentice 49 

The Flower o' Dumblane . . Eobert Tannahill 49 

Come into the Garden, Maud . Alfred Tennyson 50 

To Althea, from Prison . . . Bichard Lovelace 50 

A Woman's Question . Adelaide Anne Proctor 52 

Doris Arthur J. Munby 52 

Sad are They Who Know not Love T. B. Aldrich 53 

Swallow, Flying South . . Alfred Tennyson 53 
She was a Phantom of Delight Wm. Wordsworth 53 

Margaret JFa^er Savage Landor 53 

The Milking Maid . Christina Georgina B<>s<tti ~A 

Under the Blue Francis F. Browne 55 

Kiss Me Softly John Godfrey Saxe 55 

Pearls Bichard Henry Stoddard 56 

A Bird at Sunset . . . Eobert Bulwer Lytton 56 

Serenade Oscar Wilde 56 

Bird of Passage Edgar Fawcett 57 

1 Fear Thy Kisses . . . Percy Bysshe Shelley 57 
When the Kye Comes Hame . . James Hogg 57 
The Patriot's Bride . Sir Charles Gavan Duff:/ 58 
Janette's Hair . . . Charles Graham Halpine 58 

Wooing John B. L. Soule 59 

Sweet and Low Alfred Tennyson 59 

The Brookside E. Monckton Milnes(Lordlloughton) 60 

The Old Story Elizabeth A. Allen (Florence Percy) §0 

Evening Song Sidney Lanier 60 

A Parting Michael Drayton 61 

A Mother's Love Samuel Eogers 61 

I do Confess Thou'rt Sweet . Sir Eobert Ayton 61 

The Passionate Shepherd . Christopher Marloxoe 62 

The Nymph's Reply . . . Sir Walter Ealeigh 62 

Love is a Sickness Samuel Daniel 62 

Freedom in Dress Ben Jonson 62 

Phillis the Fair Nicholas Breton 63 

You and I W. H. Burleigh 63 

O, Saw Ye the Lass Bichard Eyan 64 

We Parted in Silence .... Julia Crawford 64 

Come to Me, Dearest .... Joseph Brennan 64 

Absence William Shakespeare 65 

Why so Pale and Wan . . . Sir John Suckling 65 

Don't be Sorrowful, Darling • Bembrandt Pcale 65 

Julia Eobert Herrick 65 

(iii) 



IV 



CONTEXTS. 



PAGE. 

The Bloom was ou the Alder . . . Don Piatt 66 

The Gowan Glitters ou the Sward Joanna Baillie 67 

She Walks in Beauty Lord Byron 68 

Aux Italiens Bobert Bulwer Lytton 68 

The Welcome Thomas Davis 69 

A Pastoral John Byrom 70 

Love at First Sight Jean Ingelow 71 

A Spinning-Wheel Song . John Francis Waller 72 

Philip My King . . Dinah Maria Unlock Craik 73 

Afton Water Bobert Burns 74 

The Lily-Pond . . . George Parsons Lathrop 75 

Cupid and Campaspe John Lyly 76 

The Day Eeturns, My Bosom Burns . B. Burns 76 

GLIMPSES OF NATURE. 

A Forest Hymn . . . William Cullen Bryant 77 

Nature Jones Very 79 

The Nightingale . . Samuel Taylor Coleridge 79 

Hymn on the Seasons . . . James Thompson 80 

Night Lord Byron 83 

The Sea Lord Byron 84 

The Rainbow William Wordsworth 85 

The Shepherd John Dyer 86 

The World is Too Much with Us W. Wordsworth 87 

Breathings of Spring . Felicia Dorothea Hemans 87 

Varying Impressions from Nature W. Wordsworth 88 

Evening William Wordsworth 89 

Hymn Before Sunrise . Samuel Taylor Coleridge 90 

To the Daisy William Wordsworth 91 

Dawn Bichard Watson Gilder 92 

The Barn Owl Samuel Butler 92 

Before the Rain . . Thomas Bailey Aldrich 94 

After the Rain . . . Thomas Bailey Aldrich 94 

Night Edward Young 94 

Summer .... John Townsend Trowbridge 95 

Day Breaking John Marston 96 

To the Nightingale .... Bichard Barnfield 98 

The Mount of the Holy Cross . . Anonymous 98 

The Heath-Cock Joanna Baillie 99 

A June Day Howitt 100 

The Sky-Lark James Hogg 101 

To the Turtle-Dove D. Conway 101 

The Rainbow James Thomson 102 

To a Water-Fowl . . William Cullen By rant 103 

Violets Bobert Herrick 103 

The Wind-Flower Jones Very 104 

Christmas in the Woods . . . Harrison Weir 104 

The Eagle Anna Letitia Barbauld 105 

A Ram Reflected in the Water . W. Wordsworth 106 

The Squirrel-Hunt .... William Browne 107 

Summer Woods John Clare 108 

On a Goldfinch William Cowper 109 

Changes in Nature Anonymous 109 

Morning Song Joanna Baillie 110 

The Squirrel William Cowper 110 

The Ivy Green Charles Dickens 111 

The Thrush's Nest John Clare 111 



PAGE. 

The Dying Stag Giles Fletcher 112 

Night ......... Edward Everett 112 

To Seneca Lake .... James Gates Percival 113 

A Woodnote Howitt 114 

Lambs at Play Bobert Bloomfield 115 

The Hare William Somerville 116 

To a Sky-Lark .... Percy By sshe Shelley 116 

To a Wild Deer John Wilson (Christopher North) 118 

The Heath Charlotte Smith 119 

The Swallow Charlotte Smith 120 

The Sierras Joaquin Miller 121 

Snow-Flakes . Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 121 

The Dog and the Water-Lily . William Cowper 122 

Planting the Apple-Tree William Cullen Bryant 123 

The Daisy James Montgomery 124 

The Robin Harrison Weir 126 

Spring and Winter . . William Shakespeare 128 

March William Cullen Bryant 128 

To a Young Ass . . Samuel Taylor Coleridge 129 

The First Day of Spring . William G. Simms 130 

Day is Dying . Mrs. Lewes Cross (George Eliot) 131 

Song of the Brook .... Alfred Tennyson 131 

Hail, Holy Light John Milton 132 

Spring Thomas Gray 133 

A Winter Morning .... William Cowper 134 

Wintry Weather David Gh-ay 135 

May-Day . . . John Wolcott (Peter Pindar) 136 

The Early Primrose . . Henry Kirke White 136- 

Loves of the Plants . . . Erasmus Darwin 137 

The Angler . . . " Anonymous 137 

To a Nightingale . . . William Drummond 137 

The Tiger William Blake 138 

The Eagle Alfred Tennyson 139 

A Summer Morn James Beattie 140 

Sunset at Norham Castle . Sir Walter Scott 141 

To the Dandelion . . . James Bussell Lowell 142 

Hymn to the Flowers . . . Horace Smith 142 

Solace in Nature . . . William Wordsworth 143 

June . . ..... James Bussdl Lowell 144 

To a Mountain Daisy .... Bobert Burns 145 

The Angler's Wish Izaak Walton 146 

The Broom Mary Howitt 147 

Ode to Leven Water . Tobias George Smollet 147 

A Spring Day Bobert Bloomfield 148- 

The Little Beach-Bird . Bichard Henry Dana 148 

The Aged Oak at Oakley . . . Henry Alford 149 

The Pheasant Anonymous 15Q 

The Thrush Anonymous loO 

Snow Balph Hoyt 150 

The O'Lincoln Family . . . Wilson Flagg 151 

Solitude of the Sea Lord Byron 151 

Summer Drought J. P. Irvine 152 

The Rhine Lord Byron 153 

To a Mountain Oak . . George Henry Boker 154 

Forest Pictures . . . Paul Hamilton Hayne 155- 

Flowers John Milton 156 

Under the Leaves .... Albert Laighton 158". 

Winter William Cowper 158 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE. 

The Flower's Name . . . Robert Browning 159 

Spring in Carolina Henry Timrod 159 

The Lark William Shakespeare 160 

Grizzly Bret Harte 160 

The Violet William Wetmore Story 161 

Calm and Storm on Lake Leman . Lord Byron 161 

Freedom of Nature .... James Thomson 161 

Three Summer Studies . . James Ban-on Hope 162 

Imaginative Sympathy with Nature Lord Byron 164 

September George Arnold 165 

Flowers Thomas Hood 166 

Stars Lord Byron 166 

Signs of Kain Dr. Edward Jenner 167 

Daffodils William Wordsworth 168 

Sonnet on the River Rhine . Wm. Lisle Bowles 169 

To the Cuckoo John Logan 170 

March William Morris 170 

The Shaded Water . . William Gilmore Simms 171 

November Hartley Coleridge 172 

The Sea in Calm and Storm . George Crabbe 173 

Midges Dance Aboon the Burn . B. Tannahill lib 

Nature's Delights John Keats 175 

Harvest Time .... Paul Hamilton Hayne 175 

The Evening Wind . . William Cullen Bryant 176 

Nature's Magnificence . . James Montgomery 177 

Spring Alfred Tennyson 178 

It Snows Mrs. S.J. Hale 179 

Sunrise at Sea Epes Sargent 180 

Invocation to Nature . Percy Bysshe Shelley 181 

Table Mountain, Good Hope James Montgomery 181 

The Poet's Solitude Lord Byron 1S2 

COUNTRY LIFE. 

A Country Life Bobert Herrick 183 

A AVish Samuel Sogers 185 

Town and Country .... William Cowper 186 

The Homestead Phoebe Gary 186 

Sunday in the Fields . . . Ebenezer Elliot 188 

Blossom-Time Mary E. Bodge 189 

The Praise of a Solitary Life . Wm. Dntmmond 190 

The Old Mill . . . Bichard Henry Stoddard 190 

Farming Edward Everett 191 

Two Pictures Marion Douglass 192 

The Ploughman . . . Oliver Wendell Holmes 192 

The Useful Plough Anonymous 193 

Country Life Anonymous 195 

The City and the Country . . . Anonymous 195 

The Haymakers George Lunt 195 

The Song of the Mowers . . W. H. Burleigh 196 

The Cornfield James Thomson 197 

The Mowers William Allingham 198 

When the Cows Come Home . Mary E . JSfealey 199 

Come to the Sunset Tree . Felicia D. Hemans 200 

My Little Brook .... Mary Bolles Branch 201 

A Harvest Hymn W. D. Gallagher 202 

The Old House . . Louise Chandler Moulton 202 

Rural Nature William Barnes 203 



The Farmer's Boy .... Bobert Bloomfield 204 

Farmyard Song . . John Townsend Trowbridge 205 

Harvest Song Eliza Cook 206 

The Farmer's Wife . . Paul Hamilton Hayne 206 

The Pumpkin . . . John Greenleaf Whittier 207 

Robert of Lincoln . . William Cullen Bryant 208 

On the Banks of the Tennessee W. D. Gallagher 209 

Summer Longings . Denis Florence Mac Carthy 210 

Farm Life Anonymous 210 

Summer Woods . . William Henry Burleigh 211 

The Village Boy Clarke 212 

The Barefoot Boy . . John Greenleaf Whittier 212 

The Country Life . . Bichard Henry Stoddard 214 

Happy the Man Whose Wish and Care Alex. Pope 215 

Contentment with Nature . . . James Beattie 215 

Nightfall : a Picture .... Alfred B. Street 217 

The House on the Hill . . . Eugene J. Hall 218 

FREEDOM AND PATRIOTISM. 

Our Own Country . . . James Montgomery 221 

The Star-Spangled Banner . Francis Scott Key 221 

Hail Columbia Joseph Hopkinson 222 

The American Flag . . Joseph Bodman Drake 222 

English National Anthem . . . Henry Carey 223 

Rule, Britannia James Thomson 223 

French National Anthem French of Boget De Lisle 223 

Prussian National Anthem . From the German 224 

The German's Fatherland . From the German 224 

Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers . Mrs. Hemans 225 

Hallowed Ground .... Thomas Campbell 226 

Harp of the North .... Sir Walter Scott 227 

Marco Bozzaris .... Fitz-Greene Halleck 227 

Of Old Sat Freedom on the Heights A. Tennyson 228 

Freedom John Barbour 228 

Love of Liberty William Cowper 229 

The Source of Party Wisdom James A. Garfield 229 

A Curse on the Traitor . . . Thomas Moore 230 

Downfall of Poland . . . Thomas Campbell 230 

Green Fields of England . Arthur High Clough 230 

Eternal Spirit of the Chainless Mind Lord Byron 230 

Bannockburn Bobert Burns 231 

Our Country's Call . . William Cullen Bryant 231 

What Constitutes a State . Sir William Jones 232 

The Love of Country . . . Sir Walter Scott 232 

It's Hame, and It's Hame . Allan Cunningham- 23? 

CAMP AND BATTLE. 



The Battle of Alexandria . James Montgomery 233 

The Ballad of Agincourt . . Michael Drayton 234 

Ye Mariners of England . . Thomas Campbell 235 

Waterloo . Lord Byron 236 

The Unreturning Brave .... Lord Byron 236 

The Charge of the Light Brigade . A. Tennyson 237 

Song of the Camp Bayard Taylor 237 

Hohenlinden Thomas Campbell 238 

Carmen Bellicosum . Guy Humpnrey McMaster 238 



CONTENTS. 



Monterey Charles Fenno Hoffman 239 

Battle-Hymn of the Republic Julia Ward Howe 239 

My Maryland James R. Randall 239 

The Countersign Anonymous 240 

The Picket Guard . . . . . Ethel Linn Beers 241 

Bethel ..... Augustine J. II. Duganne 241 

Civil War Charles Dawson Shanly 242 

"How are You, Sanitary" . . . Bret Harte 242 

Kearney at Seven Pines . Edmund C. Stedman 243 

The Old Sergeant .... Forceythe Willson 244 

Sheridan's Hide . . . Thomas Buchanan Bead 246 

Stonewall Jackson's Way . . . J. W. Falmer 247 

Barbara Frietchie . . John Greenleaf Wliittier 248 

John Burns of Gettysburg .... Bret Harte 249 

The Charge by the Ford . Thomas Dunn English 250 

The Cavalry Charge . . . Francis A. Durivage 250 

Cavalry Song . . . Edmund Clarence Stedman 251 

The C. S. Army's Commissary Ed. P. Thompson 252 

Song of the Soldiers C. Q. Halpine (Miles O'Reilly) 254 

DESCRIPTION AND NARRATION. 

"Atlantic" Benjamin F. Taylor 255 

The Wind in a Frolic .... William Hoviitt 256 

In the Maine Woods . . Henry David TJioreau 258 

A Life on the Ocean Wave . . . Epes Sargent 260 

Skipper Ireson's Ride . John Greenleaf Whittier 261 

The Rustic Bridge William Cowper 262 

Noon in Midsummer .... Louisa Bushnell 263 

The Sea in Calm B. W. Proctor (Barry Cornwall) 264 

Burial of Moses • . . Cecil Francis Alexander 264 

Money Mu-k Benjamin F. Taylor 266 

The Old Village Choir . . Benjamin F. Taylor 267 

The Old Home. . . . Oliver Wendell Holmes 268 

The Power of Habit J. B. Gough 268 

The Village Blacksmith . . H. W. Longfellow 269 

The Destruction of Sennacherib . Lord Byron 270 

The New England School . Oliver W. Holmes 270 

The Tempest James Thomas Fields 111 

Evening Cloud John Wilson ( Christopher North) 271 

The Stream of Life Reginald Heber 271 

Lucy Gray William Wordsworth 272 

The Snow-Storm . . Charles Gamage Eastman 273 

Casabianca .... Felicia Dorothea Hemans 274 

The Old Canoe Emily R. Page 274 

A Grey port Legend Bret Harte 275 

The Grape-Vine Swing . William Gil more Simms 276 

Moonlight on the Prairie . . H. W. Longfellow 276 

We'll Go to Sea no More . . . Miss Corbett 277 

The Wrecked Ship .... William Falconer 278 

The Pilot John B. Gough 27S 

The Burning of Chicago . Benjamin F. Taylor 279 

A Northern Winter . . . James Montgomery 281 

The Children in the Wood . . . Anonymous 282 

The Massacre of Fort Dearborn . B. F. Taylor 283 

The Shipwrecked Sailors . James Montgomery 284 

Mu.-ic in Camp John R. Thompson 285 

The Deaih of Napoleon . . . Isaac McClellan 285 



PAGE. 

The Grave of Bonaparte . . . Anonymous 2S6 

The Overland Train Joaquin Miller 286 

Robbing the Nest Alice Cary 287 

The Famiue . . Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 2SS 

The Bride Sir John Suckling 2S9 

The Old Mill W. II. Venable 290 

The Flood of Years . . William Cullen Bryant 291 

The Old Water- Wheel .... John Buskin 292 

Wreck of the Ship Jno. Wilson (Christopher North) 293 

The Glove and the Lions .... Leigh Hunt 294 

The Heron .... James Maurice Thompson 295 

The Brides of Enderby .... Jean Ingelow 296 

Croquet Amanda T. Jones 297 

Lord Ullin's Daughter . . Thomas Campbell 29S 

Goody Blake and Harry Gill William Wordsworth 299 

Moonlight Robert Bloomfield 300 

The River Wye .... William Wordsworth 301 

Lochinvar's Ride Sir Walter Scott 301 

The Closing Vear .... George D. Prentice 302 

The Closing Scene . Thomas Buchanan Read 303 

Abraham Lincoln Tom Taylor 304 

PLACES AND PERSONS. 

Yarrow Unvisited . . . William Wordsworth 305 

Yarrow Visited .... William Wordsworth 306 

Yarrow Stream John Logan 307 

Melrose Abbey Sir Walter Scott 308 

Fair Greece ! Sad Relic of Departed Worth Byron 30S 

The Inchcape Rock .... Robert Southey SOS 

Cape Hatteras Josiah W. Holden 309 

The Burial of Sir John Moore . Charles Wolfe 311 

On Leaving the West . . . Margaret Fuller 312 

The Knight's Tomb . Samuel Taylor Coleridge 31". 

Columbus Sir Aubrey De Vere 313 

To Thomas Moore Lord Byron 314 

To Victor Hugo Alfred Tennyson 314 

Mazzini . Laura C. Redden (Howard Glyndon) 314 

Byron Robert Pollok 314 

At the Tomb of Byron .... Joaquin Miller 315 

On the Portrait of Shakespeare . Ben Jonson 315 

T^he Lost Occasion . . John Greenleaf Whittier 316 

Nathaniel Hawthorne . . . H. W. Longfellow 316 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow . F.F.Browne 317 

Horace Greeley . . Edmund Clarence Stedman 317 

Joseph Rodman Drake . Fits- Greene Halleck 318 

Dirge for a Soldier . . . George Henry Boker 31S 

Vale Richard Realf 319 

A Friend's Greeting .... Bayard Taylor 319 

My Psalm John Greenleaf Whittier 320 

SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 

Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard T. Gray 321 

Thanatopsis .... William Cullen Bryant 327 

I Remember, I Remember . . Thomas Hood 328 

Too Late I Stayed . . William Robert Spencer 329 

Two Sonnets Ed. Porter Thompson 329 



CONTENTS. 



VU 



My Life is Like the Summer Rose . R. H. Wilde 330 

Night James Montgomery 330 

Break, Break, Break .... Alfred Tennyson 332 
Reflections in Westminster Abhey Joseph Addison 332 

Bugle-Song Alfred Tennyson 333 

Those Evening Bells .... Thomas Moore 334 

Pictures of Memory Alice Gary 334 

The Divinity of Poetry . Percy Bysshe Shelley 335 
The Lesson of the Water-Mill . Sarah Doudney 33(5 
A Hundred Years to Come . William G. Brown 337 

The Two Weavers Hannah More 338 

Apple Blossoms Anonymous 339 

June William Cullen Bryant 339 

Evening Prayer at a Girl's School Mrs. Jlemans 341 

What is Life Francis Quarles 342 

Calm is the Night . . Charles Godfrey Leland 342 

Song Celia Thaxter 343 

May John Esten Cooke 343 

Pleasures of Memory . . . . Samuel Sogers 344 

A Joy Forever John Keats 346 

Tis the Last Rose of Summer . Thomas Moore 346 
The Isle of the Long Ago . . . ' B. F. Taylor 346 

Hope ... Thomas Campbell 347 

To a Child John James Piatt 347 

Sonnet Paul Hamilton Hayne 348 

Life's Incongruities Egbert Phelps 348 

Equinoctial Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney 348 

Circumstance Alfred Tennyson 349 

The Rose upon My Balcony . W. M. Thackeray 349 
TheDeith of the Old Year . Alfred Tennyson 350 

Hope Joaquin Miller 351 

ALis! How Light a Cause . . Thomas Moore 351 

The Library . Robert Southey 352 

Woodman, Spare that Tree . . G. P. Morris 353 
Small Beginnings . . . /. . Charles Mackay 354 

Song William Allingham 355 

The River John Hay 355 

Hope Richard Alison 355 

Fidelity William Wordsworth 356 

Toward Home . . . Nathaniel Parker Willis 357 

Lines William D. Gallagher 357 

A Little Word in Kindness Spoken Colesworthy 357 
The Way to Sing . Helen Hunt Jackson (H.H.) 358 

The First Tryst John James Piatt 359 

On a Distant Prospect of Eton College T. Gray 359 
Upon the Beach . . . Henry David Thoreau 360 

Satisfied Charlotte Fiske Bates 361 

Think of Me .... John Hamilton Reynolds 361 

Ashes of Roses Elaine Goodale 361 

Forever John Boyle O'Reilly 362 

Bells of Shandon Francis Mahony (Father Prout) 362 

Hearts that Hunger Anonymous 363 

I Saw Two Clouds at Morning J. G. C. Brainard 363 

Self-Depeudence Matthew Arnold 364 

Days of My Youth . ... St. George Tucker 364 

Auld Lang Syne Robert Bums 364 

Lazy George Arnold 365 



PAGE. 

We Have BeenFriends Together C. E. S. Norton 365 

A Name in the Sand . . . George D. Prentice 366 

On Visiting a Scene of Childhood . Anonymous 366 

Mother, Home, Heaven . Wm. Goldsmith Brown 367 

Give Me Back My Youth Again . Bayard Taylor 367 

At Last Caroline Leslie 368 

Waiting William Goldsmith Brown 368 

The Book of Job Thomas Carlyle 368 

Mortality William Knox 369 

Oft in the Stilly Night .... Thomas Moore 369 

The Light-House . . Sarah Hammond Palfrey 370 

At Best ........ John Boyle O'Reilly 370 

By the Autumn Sea . . Paul Hamilton Hayne 371 

Take Heart Edna Dean Proctor 371 

Time Rolls His Ceaseless Course Sir Walter Scott 372 

When Stars are in the Quiet Skies . E. B. Lytton 372 

Dreamers Joaquin Miller 373 

Answer to a Child's Question . S. T. Coleridge 373 

Indirection Richard Realf 373 

Alone by the Hearth .... George Arnold 374 

Waiting by the Gate . . William Cullen Bryant 375 

Gloster on His Deformity . Wm. Shakespeare 376 

Sunbeams Egbert Phelps 376 

The Vicissitudes of Life . William Shakespeare 376 

Estrangement . . . Samuel Taylor Coleridge 377 

Hamlet's Soliloquy . . . William Shakespeare 377 

To-Day Thomas Carlyle 377 

The Stream Arthur Hugh Clough 37 s * 

GRIEF AND PATHOS. 

The Two Villages .... Rose Terry Cooke 379 

The Blind Boy Colley Cibber 380 

The Old Familiar Faces . . . Charles Lamb 380 

Churchyard of the Village . . . John Wilson 381 

My Heart and I . . Elizabeth Barrett Browning 3S1 

With the Dead .... Percy Bysshe Shelley 382 

A Death-Bed James Aldrich 383 

The Death of the Flowers . William C. Bryant 383 

Sands of Dee Charles Kingsley 384 

On My Mother's Picture . . William Cowper 385 

The Bridge of Sighs .... Thomas Hood 385 

Little Shoes and Stockings . . . Anonymous 386 

When We Two Parted Lord Byron 386 

Little Jim Anonymous 387 

Lament of the Irish Emigrant . Lady Dufferin 388 

The Old Sexton Park Benjamin 390 

The Old Arm-Chair Eliza Cobk 390 

Man Was Made to Mourn . . . Robert Burns 390 

The Three Fishers .... Charles Kingsley 391 

The Beggar Thomas Moss 392 

The Voice of the Poor . Lady Wilde (Speranza) 392 

Under the Daisies . . . Hattie Tyng Griswoid 393 

Exile of Erin Thomas Campbell 393 

When the Grass shall Cover Me Ina D. Coolbrith 394 

Sleep Elizabeth Barret Browning 394 

The Song of the Shirt .... Thomas Hood 394 



CONTENTS. 



397 



The Conquered Banner . . . Abram T. Ryan 396 

If May Riley Smith 396 

Somebody's Darling . . . Marie B. Lacoste 397 

Eosalie William C. Richards 

Two Mysteries Mary Mapes Dodge 

Florence Vane . . . Philip Pendleton Cooke 

A Mother's Heart Anonymous 

The Dying Boy Anonymous 

Angelus Song ..*.... Austin Dobson 

Our Childhood George D. Prentice 

The Lake of the Dismal Swamp . Thomas Moore 
Balow, My Babe, Ly Stil and Sleipe Anonymous 
A Life . Bryan Waller Proctor (Barry Cornwall) 
"Only a Year" .... Harriet Beecher Stow e 

After the Ball Nora Perry 

The Hour of Death . Felicia Dorothea Hemans 
The Death-Bed Thomas Hood 



PAGB. 

Ben Bolt Th»mas Dunn English 428 

Decoration Day at Charleston . Henry Timrod 428 

The Outcast Oliver Goldsmith 429 

The Blue and the Gray . . Francis Miles Finch 430 



399 
399 
400 
400 
401 
401 
402 
402 
403 
403 
Sad is Our Youth, for It is Ever Going A.DeVere 404 

The Blind Boy Anonymous 404 

In the Sea Hiram Rich 404 

James Melville's Child Mrs. A. Stuart Menteath 405 

To Mary in Heaven Robert Burns 406 

Annabel Lee Edgar Allan Poe 406 

We are Seven William Wordsworth 406 

Dirge Charles Gamage Eastman 407 

Three Kisses Hattie Tyng Grisivold 408 

The Brave at Home . Thomas Buchanan Read 408 
Auld Robin Gray .... Lady Anne Barnard 409 
My Love is Dead .... Thomas Chatterton 409 

Old Times Anonymous 410 

Old Ralph Hoyt 410 

My Mother's Bible .... George P. Morris 412 
Bingen on the Rhine Caroline Elizabeth S. Norton 413 

The Last of Seven Avis Willmott 414 

The Voiceless .... Oliver Wendell Holmes 414 
Resignation . . Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 414 
The Bivouac of the Dead . • Theodore O'Hara 415 

Our Soldiers' Graves Jones Very 416 

Bereavement John Keble 417 

Three Roses .... Thomas Bailey Aldrich 418 

Highland Mary Robert Burns 418 

Requiescat . Oscar Wilde 419 

The Blind Man James Grahame 419 

The Plague-Stricken City . Marie B Williams 420 
Footsteps of Angels . . Henry W. Longfellow 420 
The Fate of Poets . . . William Wordsworth 421 

The Cradle Austin Dobson 421 

Into the World and Out . . Sallie 31. B. Piatt 421 
The Reaper and the Flowers H. W. Longfellow 421 

Last Words Henry Ai ford 422 

Tears, Idle Tears Alfred Tennyson 423 

Dead in November E. Hannaford 424 

The Child's First Grief . . Felicia D. Hemans 424 
Hannah Binding Shoes . . . . Lucy Larcom 425 
The Cross .... Elizabeth (Bundle) Charles 425 

The Little Mourner Henry Alford 426 

Baby Bell Thomas Bailey Aldrich 427 



THE NOBILITY OF LIFE. 

Clear the Way Charles Mackay 

What is Noble Charles Swain 

The Laborer William D. Gallagher 

Tact and Talent Anonymous 

Never Give Up Anonymous 

The Gentleman George W. Doane 

Want of Decision Sydney Smith 

For A' That, and A' That . . . Bobert Burns 

Ode to Duty William Wordsworth 

A Great Lawyer CO. Bonney 

Labor Frances Sargent Osgood 

Advice to Young Men .... Noah Porter 
A Psalm of Life . Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 
Trials a Test of Character William MorleyPunshon 

Gradatim Josiah Gilbert Holland 

How to Live Horatius Bonar 

Press On Park Benjamin 

A True Woman Bobert Dodsley 

The Supremacy of Virtue . . . John Milton 
Industry and Genius . . Henry Ward Beecher 
The Light of Stars Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

A Happy Life Sir Henry Wotton 

My Mind to Me a Kingdom is Sir Edward Dyer 

Success in Life Anonymous 

Honorable Employment . . • John Webster 
A Rhyme of Life . . Charles Warren Stoddard 

Industry Benjamin Franklin 

My Work Frances Ridley Havergal 

THE BETTER LAND. 



Ode on Immortality 
The Discoverer . . 
The Future Life . . 
There is No Death . 



. . William Wordsworth 

Edmund Clarence Stedman 

. William Cullen Bryant 

. . . . J. L. McCreery 



'•Blessed are They that Mourn" W. C. Bryant 
The Mariner's Hymn . Caroline Boioles Southey 
Abide with Us : for it is Evening . H. N. Powers 
Shall we Meet Again . . . George D. Prentice 

Home and Heaven Jones Very 

Rest is Not Here . . . Lady Caroline Nairne 

p eaC e Mary Clemmer Ames 

The Death of the Virtuous Anna Letitia Barbauld 

I Shall be Satisfied Anonymous 

The Mountains of Life . . . . J. G. Clark 

Immortality Richard Henry Dana 

The Better Way Jean Ingelow 

The Way, the Truth and the Life Theodore Parker 
p est Mary Woolsey Howland 454 



440 
440 
441 
441 
442 
442 
443 
443 
443 
444 
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444 



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CONTENTS. 



PAGE. 

Only Waiting . . . Frances Laughton Mace 454 

Life Anna Letitia Barbauld 454 

Tell Me, Ye Winged Winds . Charles Mackay 455 

The Dying Christian to his Soul Alexander Pope 455 

Dying Hymn Alice Cary 455 

Heaven Nancy Priest Wakefield 456 

Heaven our Home . . . George D. Prentice 456 

Up-Hill Christina G. Rosetti 456 

In Harbor Paul Hamilton Hayne 457 

Two Worlds Mortimer Collins 457 

When . . . Sarah Woolsey (Susan Coolidge) 458 

Abide with Me .... Henry Francis Lyte 458 

"I Too" . . . Constance Fenimore Woolson 459 

No Sorrow There Daniel March 459 

This World is all a Fleeting Show Thos. Moore 459 

The Other World . . Harriet Beecher Stowe 460 

A Better World .... George D. Prentice 460 

Ministry of Angels . . . Edmund, Spenser 460 

"Father, Take My Hand 1 ' . . Henry N. Cobb 461 

Ripe Grain Dora Read Goodale 461 

Nearer Home Phcebe Cary 461 

The Pillar of the Cloud . John Henry Newman 462 

Hereafter Harriet Prescott Spo.ford 462 

The Eternal Best .... Edmund Spenser 462 

I Would Not Live Al way . Wm. A. Muhlenberg 463 

The Rest of the Soul . . . F. W Robertson 463 

The Eternal Home .... Edmund Waller 463 

41 Follow Me " Abram T. Ryan 464 

AH Before Anonymous 464 

The Divine Abode .... Philip Doddridge 464 

Safe to the Land Henry Alford 465 

Over the Biver . . . Nancy Priest Wakefield 465 

Parted Friends .... James Montgomery 466 

The Eternal Percy Bysshe Shelley 466 

Beyond the Hills Horatius Bonar 466 

MISCELLANEOUS. 

Down m the Harbor . . Elizabeth Akers Allen 467 

The Jolly Old Pedagogue . . George Arnold 468 

Here's to Them that are Gane Lady Caroline Naime 469 

The Toper's Apology .... Charles Morris 469 

A Visit from St. Nicholas . Clement C. Moore 470 

The Spacious Firmament on High Jos. Addison 471 

Negro Revival Hymn . Joel Chandler Harris 472 

The Old Shepherd's Dog J. Wolcott (Peter Pindar) 473 

The Bells Edgar Allan Foe 474 

Aunt Silva Meets Young Mas'r Ed. P. Thompson 475 

The Grave James Montgomery 476 

The World Henry Vaughn 477 

William Tell among the Mountains J. S. Knowles 478 

My Heart 's in the Highlands . Robert Burns 480 

The Raven Edgar Allan Foe 480 

There is Mist on the Mountain Sir Walter Scott 482 

The Dream of Argyle . Elizabeth H Whittier 483 

Childhood's Prayer .... Newton S. Otis 485 

The Lady's "Yes" Elizabeth Barrett Browning 486 

The Last Leaf .... Oliver Wendell Holmes 487 



The Noble Nature Ben Jonson 

Of a Contented Mind . . Thomas, Lord Vaux 
The Sea-Bird's Song John Gardiner C. Brainard 
The Mariner's Dream . . . William Dimond 
Ring Out, Wild Bells . . . Alfred Tennyson 
The Moneyless Man . . . Henry T. Stanton 
O ! May I Join the Choir Invisible George Eliot 

The Modern Belle Anonymous 

Aunt Tabitha .... Oliver Wendell Holmes 

Providence Anonymous 

Rhymes of the Months . . . .Clark Jillson 
Beautiful Snow ..... James W. Watson 

Every Year Albert Pike 

The Winged Worshipers . . Charles Sprague 
Night and Death . . . Joseph Blanco White 

Fortitude Edward Young 

Our Mother Tongue J. G. Lyons 

The Harp that Once Through Tara's Halls Moore 
The Vagabonds . . John Townsend Trowbridge 
Universal Prayer ..... Alexander Pope 
The College Regatta . Oliver Wendell Holmes 

Evening Sir Walter Scott 

Children's Thankfulness .... John Keble 

Norval John Home 

My Creed Theodore Tilton 

O Sweet Wild Roses . Richard Watson Gilder 
To a Bereaved Mother . . John Quincy Adams 
The Pauper's Drive ...... John Noel 

Light Francis W. Bourdillon 

Maud Muiler .... John Greenleaf Whittier 

Death the Leveler James Shirley 

Cato's Soliloquy on Immortality Joseph Addison 
I'm Growing Old .... John Godfrey Saxe 
The Soldier's Dream . . . Thomas Campbell 

Abou Ben Adhem Leigh Hunt 

To My Mother .... Arthur Henry Hallam 
Atheist and Acorn Anne, Countess of Winchelsea 

Buena Vista Albert Pike 

Even-Tide Mrs. J. M. Winton 

Blindness John Milton 

The Plaidie ........ Charles Sibley 

Vertue George Herbert 

The Daisy Geoffrey Chaucer 

Places of Worship . . . William Wordsworth 

The Beacon-Light Julia Pardoe 

God's-Acre . . Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 
Daniel Gray .... Josiah Gilbert Holland 

"I Hold Still" From the German 

The Battle of Blenheim . . . Robert Southey 

Jenny Kissed Me Leigh Hunt 

A-Huuting We Will Go . . . Henry Fielding 
How 's My Boy ...... Sydney Dobell 

The Hills Were Made for Freedom W. G. Brown 

A Christmas Hymn Alfred Domett 

Look Aloft .... Jonathan Lawrence, Jr. 

Faith Frances Anne Kemble 

Counsel to a Friend . . William Shakespeare 
Books Eobert Leighton 



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PAGE. 

The Cotter's Saturday Night 17 

'." Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair, ) ls 

In other's arms breathe out the tender tale" J 

" They round the single form a circle wide" 19 

" The priest-like father reads the sacred page" __ 20 

" The parent pair their secret homage pay" 21 

" The raven's clamorous nest" _ 22 

A Country Home. 23 

" I am seven times one to-day" : 24 

" 1 leaned out of window, I smelt the white clover".. 25 

" Let me bleed! Oh, let mealone" _ 26 

The Old Oaken Bucket 28 

" One 'mid the forests of the West, ) ,„ 

By a dark stream is laid" J ^ a 

Boy and Lamb 33 

Joys of Home 35 

Christmas Stockings 36 

" The little hand outside her muff— ) „ 7 

To keep it warm I had to hold it" J a ' 

"There is a garden in her face" 40 

"That flntt'ring sail I 19 

Is spread to waft me far from the" J *^ 

" Rock me to sleep, mother" 44 

" Thy towers Bombay, gleam bright, they say ? ,- 

Across the dark blue sea" 5 *' 

" Sweet hand, that, held in mine" 48 

" Stone walls do not a prison make, } -.. 

Nor iron bars a cage" ) - D1 

The Milking Maid 54 

" Silver sails all out of the west, ? - q 

Under the silver moon" ) 

" Watch o'er his slumbers like the brooding dove" 61 

" We sat in the hush of summer eves" 63 

" I saw her pace, with quiet grace, ) „ r 

The shaded path along" 5 

'' For ne'er was poor shepherd so sadly forlorn" 70 

" Close by the window young Eileen is spinning" 72 

' Lay on my neck thy tiny hand"... 73 

' How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighboring hills" 74 

The Lily Pond _ 75 

* The groves were God's first temples" 77 



PAGE. 

" A grove of large extent, hard by a castle huge " 79 

Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter 80 

" Wide flush the fields; the softening air is balm " 80 

" By brooks and groves, in hollow whispering gale3 " 81 

" Thy bounty shines in Autumn unconfined " 81 

" With clouds and storms I 00 

Around these thrown, tempest o'er tempest rolled " J 

" Ye headlong torrents, rapid and profound" 82 

" Since God is ever present, ever felt" 83 

" Dark-heaving, boundless, endless and sublime" 84 

Fawn among Roses.. 85 

The Shepherd _ 86 

" Sweet voices in the woods, ? S7 

And reed-like echoes, that have long been mute " S 

" Amidst the hollows of the rocks their fall ? qq 

Makes melody " J— - 

" It is a beauteous evening, calm and free " 89 

" On thy bald, awful head, O sovran Blanc !"_ 90 

The Barn Owl _ 92 

Before the Rain 93 

After the Rain _ 94 

" I seek the coolest sheltered seat " 95 

" Quickly before me runs the quail" 96 

" Mount of the Holy Cross " 97 

The Heath-Cock 99 

" Upon that heath, in birchen bower" 100 

The Turtle-Dove 101 

The Rainbow 102 

The Waterfowl.... 103 

" From under the boughs in the snow-clad wood ) «„, 

The merle and the mavis are peeping " 5 

" The tawny eagle seats his callow brood " 105 

Ram Reflected in the Water 106 

The Squirrel Hunt 107 

Summer Woods 108 

The Goldfinch 109 

The Squirrel 1 ....110 

TheThrush'sNest.... 111 

The Dying Stag 112 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 



Page. 

The Swan I 113 

The Pheasant... ...114 

The Blackbird 114 

Lambs at Play 115 

The Hare 116 

The Wild Deer 118 

The Heath-Chats 119 

The Swallow 120 

Suow-Flakes 121 

The Dog and the Water-Lily 122 

' Roughs where the thrash with crimson breast? joo 

Shall haunt, and sing, and hide her nest" ) ~" 

' Shall think of childhood's careless day" 124 

' In every season fresh and fair" 125 

' Though the snow is falling fast, ) 12B 

Specking o'er his coat with white" ) 

' And birds sit brooding in the snow" 127 

March.. 128 

' Poor little foal of an oppressed race" 129 

The First Day of Spring 130 

' I move the sweet forget-me-nots ? joi 

That grow for happy lovers" ) 

' I chatter over stony ways" __ 132 

' Still is the toiling hand of care; ? [«, 

The panting herds repose" ) 

A Winter Morning 134 

'The sparrows peep, and quit the sheltering eaves" 135 

Initial— Winter Weather 135 

May-Day .'...136 

The Nightingale. __ _ 137 

The Tiger 138 

The Eagle.. 139 

A Summer Morn 140 

' Cheviot's mountains lone" 141 

' As in solitude and shade I wander ) .,» 

Through the green aisles" ( 

' Now is the high tide of the year"... 144 

' I in these flowery medes would be" 146 

' Loiter long days near Shawford Brook" 146 

Leven Water 147 

The Sheep Pasture... 148 

The Aged Oak 149 

Woods in Winter 150 

Solitude of the Sea _ .151 

' A pillage for the birds" 152 

' The castled crag of Drachenf els / lr -„ 

Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine" ) 

The Mountain Oak _ 154 

'O blissful valley, nestling cool and fair" ._ 155 

1 The squirrel— that quaint, sylvan harlequin" 156 

1 Oft have I walked these woodland paths" 157 

Winter ..158 

' Grizzly" 160 

' The noisy swallows twitter 'neath the eaves' ' 162 

' The panting cattle in the river stand".. 163 

1 On the bosom of the still lagoon". 164 

September 165 

Flowers ..166 

' The hollow winds begin to blow " 167 



PAGE. 

'Our jaunt must be put off to-morrow" IBS 

The River Rhine 169 

March 170 

The Shaded Water... 171 

' The gaunt woods, in ragged, scant array" 172 

' Ships in the calm seem anchored" 173 

' The petrel, in the troubled way, ? 17 o 

Swims with her brood, or flutters in the spray" $ " 

'Their passage tribes of sea-gulls urge" 174 

' Roughening their crests" 176 

Giraffes 177 

The Nile 178 

' It Snows" 179 

Sunrise at Sea... 180 

Table Mountain, Cape of Good Hope 181 

' To climb the trackless mountains all unseen ( „„ 

With the wild flock that never needs a fold ) 

' When now the cock, the ploughman's horn / ,„, 

Calls for the lily-wristed morn" ) iaA 

Sheep at Pasture 184 

' Around my ivied porch shall spring ) 1a . 

Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew" \ 18a 

The Homestead _.___,_ 186 

' His head in manhood's prime, ) 1S - 

ls growing white as the winter's rime" S" 

Sunday in the Fields 188 

Blossom-Time __ 189 

' By some shady grove far from the clamorous world" _ 190 

The Ploughman 192 

' To walk in the air, how pleasant and fair" 193 

Country Life 194 

' Down on the Merrimac River" 196 

The Cornfield... 197 

The Mowers 198 

When the Cows come Home 199 

' Come to the sunset-tree" 200 

' I sit here by the stream in full content" 201 

The Old House 202 

Rural Nature 2CS 

' For pigs, and ducks, and turkeys throng the door"., - 204 

' Homeward, his daily labors done, [ „.„ 

The stalwart farmer slowly plods") — - jUt> 

Robert of Lincoln 208 

' An old log cabin I think of, ? ono 

On the banks of the Tennessee" J -- - M > 

Summer Woods __ 211 

The Village Boy 212 

The Barefoot Boy... 213 

'The pomp of groves and garniture of fields" _ 215 

' White Dobbin through the stable doors I .-,.„ 

Shows his round shape" S 

The House on the Hill 218 

' The cold, cheerless woods we delighted to tramp" 219 

Tail-Piece 220 

Death of Abercrombie 233 

Kearney at Seven Pines...- ....243 

Stonewall Jackson's Way 247 

■ The bayonet shall be our spit" 252 

■ We'll take, content, the roasting ear" 253 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 



PAGE. 

" Brothers of the heart are we" 254 

Loss of the "Atlantic" _ 255 

The Wind in a Frolic... 257 

In the Maine Woods 258 

A Mountain Lake 259 

Denizens of the Forest 259 

The Rustic Bridge 262 

Noon in Midsummer ..263 

The Sea in Calm 264 

" The bald old Eagle )' 

On gray Beth-peor's height" S" * 5 

The Old Village Choir _ s _ .267 

The Old Home __ _ ._ __268 

The New England School __ ...270 

The Lake at Sunset 271 

' The fence was lost, and the wall of stone [ „„ 
The windows blocked, and the well-curb gone" ) ,A 

1 The man in his sleigh, and his faithful dog, \ „„„ 
And his beautiful Morgan brown" J lA 

' They ran through the streets of the seaport town" 275 

' O blithely shines the bonny sun } „._ 

Upon the Isle of May" ) - -...277 

The Burning of Chicago 280 

A Northern Winter. '_ 281 

The Shipwrecked Sailors 284 

Robbing the Nest 287 

The Old Mill 290 

' Up mounts the glorious sun" 293 

1 Her sails are draggled in the brine ) on , 

That gladdened late the skies" ) zy ± 

The Heron ..295 

' Glad if the full-orbed moon salute his eyes".. _ 300 

The River Wye 301 

' Tin- swan, on still St. Mary's lake ) 

Float double, swan and shadow " \ *> (J '> 

' Fair Greece! sad relic of departed worth". 308 

The Inchcape Rock 309 

" That lone hulk stands ) 

Embedded in thy yellow sands" J iw 

' Farewell, ye soft and sumptuous solitudes". _ 312 

Columbus. 313 

The Country Churchyard __ ..321 

' The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea" 322 

Drowsy tinklings lull the distant'fold" 322 ' 

Children run to lisp their sire's return" 323 

Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield" 323 ■ 

How jocund did they drive their team afield" 324 ' 

Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast" 324 ' 

Wade through slaughter to a throne" 325 » 

Muttering his wayward fancies would he rov,e" 326 ' 

Approach and read— for thou canst read— the lay" 326 ' 

I remember, I remember 1 i 

The house where I was born") »« 

' Too late I stayed— forgive the crime" ..329 

Night is the time for toil, £ 
To plough the classic field" J * 30 

' Night is the time to watch ) 

O'er ocean's dark expanse" J *»1 i 

' Break, break, break, ) > 

On thy cold, gray stones, OSea!" ) iAi 

' The sp lendor falls on castle walls" 333 



PAGE. 

" Gnarled oaks olden, dark with themistletoe"... 334 

" Free as the winds that blow" 335 

" From the fields the reapers sing".. __ 336 

The Water-Mill 337 

The Two Weavers 338 

" Betrothed lovers walk in sight ) 

Of my lone monument" ) iw 

Evening Prayer at a Girl's School 341 

" Yonder a man at the heavens is staring" 342 

" Over the flowery lawn, maids are at play" 343 

" With treasured tales and legendary lore" 344 

" The mouldering gateway strews the grass grown court" 345 

" Play, happy child" __ .347 

" Yon fadeless forests in their Titan grace" .348 

The Nightingale '... _ 349 

" Full knee-deep lies the winter snow" ...850 

The Library 352 

" That old familiar tree" 358 

" It stood a glory in its place, a blessing evermore" 345 

The River 355 

' The dog had watched about the spot" 356 

' The little bird on tireless wing" 358 

' Ye distant spires, ye antique towera ? „,.q 

That crown the watery glade" )'" 

' Go where the water glideth gently ever" 361 

' 1 saw two clouds at morning" _ 363 

' So here upon the grass I lie at ease" 365 

' The trees under which we had strayed" 366 

' The river all quiet and bright" 367 

' So men must lie down too" _ 368 

' The lighthouse with its wakeful eye". 370 

' The face of the ocean is dim and pale". 371 

' When stars are in the quiet skies". 372 

' Do you ask what the birds say" 373 

Alone by the Hearth i 374 

' A dreary sea now flows between" 377 

' O stream, descending to the sea" 378 

' Over the river, on the hill, ) 070 

Lieth a village white and still" J- 0,a 

1 Over the river, under the hill, ) „ S o 

Another village lieth still" ) 

■ We read the names unknown" _ ...381 

The Churchyard . 382 

The naked woods, and meadows brown and sear" 383 

Call the cattle home, across the Sands of Dee" 384 

They rowed her in across the rolling foam" 384 

Her grave beside the sea" 384 

The cottage was a thatched one" _ 387 

Where we sat side by side" 388 

'Tisbut a step down yonder lane" 389 

Pity the sorrows of a poor old man" 392 

A woman sat in unwomanly rags, ? ,gc 
Plying her needle and thread" )-~ 

Somebody's darling slumbers here" 397 

Ly stil, my darlinge, sleipe awhile". 401 

And fed them from my baby's dimpled hand " 405 

The wife who girds her husband's sword, ) , 08 

Wlid little ones who weep or wonder " ) 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 



Mil 



PAfiE. 
" By the wavside on a mossy stone, ? ,,q 

Sat a hoary pilgrim, sadly musing" ) 

" There's the mill that ground our yellow grain " 411 

" Brook and bridge, and barn, aDd old red stable " 412 

" In grief she walks alone, by every garden bed " 414 

" Bring flowers of early spring, / , lfi 

To deck each soldier's grave " ) 

" A basket on one tender arm ( .y. 

Contained her precious store" ) 

" A widow, with new grief made wild" _ 418 

The Blind Man .._ _ 419 

" I thought of Chatterton, the marvelous boy, ) ,„. 

The sleepless soul that perished in his pride" ) 

" Touch me once more my father". _ 422 

" Looking on the happy Autumn fields ) .„„ 

And thinking of the days that are no more") 

" Hannah Binding Shoes" __ ...425 

The Little Mourner. ...426 

The Outcast _. ...429 

Tail-Piece 430 

" Once the welcome light has broken, who shall say ) ,,, 

What the unimagined glories of the day " ) * al 

" The moon doth with delight, ) ,,- 

Look round her when the heavens are bare " ) " 

" Down in the harbor the ships lie moored" 467 

The Jolly Old Pedagogue 468 

The Toper.. 470 

" The moon takes up the wondrous tale".. 471 

The Negro Revival 472 

The Old Shepherd's Dog t 473 

' Out befo' de cabins all de darkies sat". ...475 

The Grave 476 

' On thy dear lap these limbs reclined, ) , 77 

Shall gently molder into thee " ) 

The Miser .478 

William Tell among the Mountains _ 479 

" Farewell to the mountains, high covered with snow". ...480 

■' Rough Keppoch, give breath to thy bugle's bold swell " 483 

' Down the glen, beyond the castle, 1 .o. 

Where the Linn's swift waterB shine" ) 

'Now 1 lay me down to sleep." 485 



PAGE 

"Yes, I answered you last night; ) ._. 

No, this morning, sir, 1 say") 

"The old three-cornered hat, ? .„_ 

And the breeches and all that" ) ial 

Old Oak.. 487 

"The sweetest time of all my life, > .„, 

To deem in thinking spent" ) 48S 

TheSea-Bird 489 

The Modern Belle 492 

Aunt Tabitha 492 

"Gives one a kiss, another an embrace" 493 

The Seasons _ 493 

"The earth is set with many a gem".. ...494 

"Polished scythe and sickle gleam" 494 

"Earth and sky seem cold and drear" 495 

Fortitude _ 498 

"Far as Orkney's breakers roar" 499 

"Meteor lights flame in an Arctic sky" ...499 

The College Regatta 502 

"Now to their mates the wild swans row" 502 

Children's Thankfulness 503 

"Maud Muller, on a summer's day, ) Pnfi 

Raked the meadows sweet with hay" J 

"And the young girl mused beside the well" .507 

"The little spring brook fall, ) „, _ 

Over the roadside, through the wall") — ~ aU ' 

The Atheist and the Acorn.. 510 

Bnena Vista 511 

"Birds most musical at close of day" 512 

Evening.. 513 

"Sweet day, so calm, so cool, so bright" 514 

Village Worshippers __ ...515 

The Beacon Light 516 

God's Acre _ 516 

"Jenny kissed me when we met"... 518 

"A hunting we will go" _ 519 

"How's my boy?"' __ .519 

"Gathered the hero-band". __ _ _ 520 

Books. 522 




PUBLISHERS PREFACE, 



This work represents the effort to collect in one volume the best productions of the 
hundreds of authors most popular and distinguished in the literature of our language, and 
to include therein a profuseness and elegance of engraving that would illustrate the per- 
fection of the engraver's art — thus producing a combination and richness of art and litera- 
ture such as has not before been given in a single volume at a low retail price. 

It has been well said that few authors have produced much worthy of preservation. 
The reputation of most writers rests upon a few unique and really meritorious productions. 
Gray's Elegy, revolving in his mind for years, was written, rewritten and pruned, again 
and again, until that single poem stands as the one beautiful monument of his literary life. 
Poe's name and fame live chiefly upon that wonderful production, "The Raven ;" the 
outcome, doubtless, of some deep, wild, intense, personal experience. Miss Priest wrote 
nothing comparable to her exquisite "Over the River," and Bryant is best known by 
his "Thanatopsis ;" Longfellow is most strikingly associated with "The Psalm of Life," 
and a few other poems. So in the works of all the writers of verse, popular poems 
stand exceptional and lonely ; and it is only by learning what and where they are and col- 
lecting them in a single volume, that the great mass of people are able to possess them. 

The present volume has been selected from the wide range of English literature by 
skillful and sympathetic hands, with the specially definite object of bringing together the 
popular poems of the language. The volume contains the popular element of a whole 
library of verse — and not only popular but good as an influence upon the every-day life of 
the world. It is the crowning productions, such as these, of the authors best known in our 
literature, that have been sought for this home volume. 

The department of Biography gives popular information of a personal character con- 
cerning those who have made our literature, which it is thought will add materially to the 
interest and value of the work. 

Thanks are due to the living authors who have so cheerfully permitted the use of their 
poems, and to the publishers controlling copyrights. The selections from T. B. Aldrich, 
Alice and Phoebe Cary, Bret Harte, Dr. O. W. Holmes, Lucy Larcom, H. W. Longfel- 
low, J. R. Lowell, J. J. Piatt, J. G. Saxe, E. C. Stedman, Bayard Taylor, Celia Thax- 
ter, H. D. Thoreau, J. G. Whittier, Forceythe Willson and Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney are 
used by permission of, and by arrangement with, Mess. Houghton, Mifflin & Co., the pub- 
lishers of the works of these authors. 



INTRODUCTION- 



Our life is mystic, unfathomable — open to manifold subtle influences which help to 
make or mar us. Who needs be told that we are embosomed in Immensity, when 
beneath the nightly heavens the eye is greeted by the light of stars, which, not- 
withstanding the speed of its flight (nearly two hundred thousand miles a second), has 
been journeying for ages from its source to reach oar planet. If sunrise could be 
witnessed but once a year, who would be abed on the morning of that more than 
imperial pageant; yet is the splendor less, because almost every day it streams 
along the sky? In our impatience of the commonplace, in eager search of beauty 
and inspiration, we cross the sea to Britain, France, or Italy, and come back no 
richer than we went, because the beauty and inspiration must go with us or we shall 
not find them anywhere. 

The fault of spiritual poverty is in ourselves, not in our surroundings. The 
heavens by night or day are as beautiful, grand and sacred over the humblest home 
in America as over the greatest gallery or cathedral in Europe; and he who cannot 
find the treasures of life here, will discover no treasures there. 

Doorways to the infinite knowledge, glory and blessedness of the universe are 
near the path of every " traveller betwixt life and death" — the humblest as well as 
the highest; the latchstring is always on the outside, and whoso wills it may enter 
and find riches, "where moth and rust do not corrupt, nor thieves break through and 
steal." 

At school or college, at the handles of the plow, or with a hoe in the fist, at 
the carpenter's bench, on the bricklayer's scaffold, in the blacksmith's shop, behind 
the tradesman's counter, in the merchant's office, in the wife's and mother's round 
of ceaseless toil and care, wherever our appointed task is to be done — and woe to 
him who has not found his task, or shrinks from doing it — there must the secrets 
of the world be learned and the power gained, by use of which we enter into and 
possess the estate of the soul. 

Few in this land are so bereft, so desolate, that visions of ineffable beauty, 
messages from a world above matter, are denied to them ; but the eye must be 
clarified to see the vision, the ear opened to hear the beatific tidings. 

(xv) 



XVi INTKODUCTION. 

" While this muddy vesture of decay doth grossly close us in," and while 
custom lies upon us with a weight heavy as frost, and deep almost as life, it ig 
hard for us to behold 

"The light that never was on laud or sea, 
The consecration and the poet's dream:" 
To hear " the harmony that is in immortal souls." 

We are so immersed in the life of the senses, so cheated by the shows of 
things, occupied by greetings in the market-place, trifles in the street, fashions of 
dress, the cut of a coat, the mode of a bonnet, the glitter of a brooch, the 
costume of a dude or belle; we give such time and attention to gossip of news- 
papers and society, that the eye becomes dull and we see not, the ear heavy and 
we hear not, and the soul forgets its nobleness — is defrauded of its heritage. 

We delude ourselves that happiness is to be found, and only found, at the 
winning-post of life's race; that he alone can have it who gains the wager of the 
contest, is greeted by the applause of the onlooking throng, crowned with gilt or 
gold by the judges at the stand; — and so our life is heated, eager, passionate, 
spectacular. We like the haste and din of crowds, the shuffle of feet and clap- 
ping of hands ; the ear loses its sense of harmony, and noise becomes music ; the 
eye its discretion, and we mistake paste for diamonds, and fancy that gas-light is 
better than sunshine. 

" The world is too much with us, late and soon: 
Getting and spending we lay waste our powers." 

God deals with us as with sons, and the blows of affliction fall, not to punish,, 
but correct. There is a vacant chair in every home ; there are few hearts that have 
lot known the discipline of sorrow; each one hath its own grief with which no 
stranger intermeddles. Silence and solitude are appointed to us for seasons, that they 
<nay do what the bustle and the crowd cannot; and they bid us open our minds and 
hearts to the ministry of healing, the consolation of higher influences, and persuade us 
that while on one side we are of the earth earthy, the children of Adam, the man of 
the red clay, on the other we are His brethren who is the Lord from Heaven. Relio-ion, 
philosophy, science, the arts and letters, are friendly guides to lead us away from the 
dissipations and deceptions of the world, from the deceit and allurements of our own 
hearts to the palace of the Great King in whose courts and gardens we may find 
health, sanity, strength, and so come back to the working-day world as giants refreshec 
with new wine. 

What power is found in books ! A well-chosen library, though small and 
inexpensive, may introduce us to the best company the world has known, brino- us 
upon terms of intimacy with the kingly spirits of our race, admit us to their confidence 
so that they tell us the secret of their hearts, show us the weapons with which thev 



INTRODUCTION. xvii 

conquered the world and themselves, breathe upon us the spirit of their courage, 
enthusiasm, faith, hope and love; teach us the secret of their nobleness, heroism, 
divinity, until in the wrapt communion we grow into their manners, aims, achieve- 
ments, and make them our own. 

The value of a book depends upon the use we make of it; it is little worth 
except to the good reader. If its true office be performed for us we must eat, drink, 
digest, assimilate it so that its nourishment becomes a part of our own being, recruiting 
our life with its intelligence, wisdom, inspiration. 

When books were rare and costly, chained to columns in monasteries, borrowed 
with pledges that might have been the ransom of princes, men studied, devoured them, 
and so appropriated their virtue. Now, when books may be bought for a song, when 
Homer, Dante, 'Shakespeare, Goethe, Wordsworth, may be had for the asking, we glance 
at, caress with compliments and pass them by as fish swim among pearls and know not 
of their value. 

When Gen. Jackson, as President of the United States, gave year by year the 
series of state dinners at the White House, while his distinguished guests banqueted upon 
the countless dishes and courses, surfeiting their stomachs, addling their brains with the 
dainties and wines of an English dinner, the sturdy old host stuck to the simple fare,, 
with the dessert of mush and milk, to which he had been used at the "Hermitage," 
and so kept his head and will, as well as stomach, inviolate ; his guests departing with 
indigestion, often unable to recognize their own homes on reaching them. 

Our intellectual feasts are in many courses, with wines of many vintages — liqueurs, 
cognac, absinthe, added: what wonder, then, that there is so much literary dyspepsia, 
apoplex} r and paralysis? A wise man once said of an omniverous reader, "He read so 
much he came at Jast to know nothing." "A good book," said Milton, " is the precious 
life-blood of a master spirit, embalmed and treasured up on purpose to a life beyond 
life:" and he who by devout and constant reading of a few such will realize in his spirit 
all that is claimed fov the transfusion of blood in the veins; recover him from disease, 
make the shrunken frame dilate, cause the languid eye and pallid cheek to glow and 
sparkle with the heal'h of immortal youth, lend the voice the music and accents of 
courage and joy. Th?-ough well-chosen books we become heirs of the ages, and when 
the pencil of the artist and burin of the engraver embody in living form the writer's 
thought, we have the presence and the glory of a sacrament — "an outward and visible 
form of an inward and spiritual grace." What pains and expense we are at, what 
dresses don, and ordeals undergo to gain access to the drawing-rooms of the great, 
to be presented to princes, to bow and curtsey to kings and queens, and, after all our 
toil and trouble, often feel in coming away that we have only looked at blocks with 
wigs on them. We sigh or struggle for invitations to balls and parties, and then learn to 
our cost that pates, terrapin and champagne apologize to the stomach for the absence ot 



xvm INTKODUCTIOST. 

wit and wisdom we hoped to find; and that the proper legend for the entertainment 
would be, "Panorama of a caravan wandering through the Desert of Sahara." But 
good books never cheat us thus: they are "a perpetual feast where no crude surfeit 
reigns;" not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools suppose, but musical as is Apollo's lute." 
We can apply to them with justice Wordsworth's lines on the Ministry of Nature: 

" Oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din 
Of towus and cities, I have owed to them, 
In hours of weariness, sensations sweet, 
Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart: 
And passing even into my purer mind, 
With tranquil restoration; feelings too 
Of unreinembered pleasure; such, perhaps, 
As have no slight or trivial influence 
On that best portion of a good man's life, 
His little, nameless, unremembered acts 
Of kindness and of love : nor less, I trust, 
To them I may have owed another gift, 
Of aspect more sublime: that blessed mood, 
In which the burthen of the mystery, 
In which the heavy and the weary weight 
Of all this unintelligible world 
Is lightened: — that serene and blessed mood, 
In which the affections gently lead us on— 
Until, the breath of this corporeal frame 
And even the motion of our human blood 
Almost suspended, we are laid asleep 
In body, and become a living soul: 
While with an eye made quiet by the power 
Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, 
We see into the life of things." 

Homer's Iliad wrought itself into the soul of Alexander, and became the 
brain and sword with which he conquered the world. A young man walking one 
day on the river's bank saw something floating in the current, drew it ashore, found 
it to be a parchment Bible which had been thrown into the flood by command of 
the apostate Emperor Julian. The youth dried the volume, read it until its contents 
took possession of him, winning him from the study of Greek Philosophy, and he 
became the "Golden-mouthed" John of Antioch, afterwards Archbishop of Constan- 
tinople, known to the world as St. John Chrysostom, the most powerful preacher 
the East has known since the days of St. Paul. A young African, who had run 
a course of intellectual and animal excess, paced to and fro, one pleasant summer 
afternoon, in a Eoman garden, and heard a child in the next garden reading aloud; 
he paused to listen, heard words which took hold of his conscience and heart, for 
they were words of the Holy Scriptures. He got the book and studied it, and 



INTRODUCTION. xix 

Oecame the most renowned Doctor and Father of the Christian Church — St. Augus- 
tine. But why multiply instances of the power of books. 

In presenting you this volume, the publishers have spared neither pains nor 
expense to make it as nearly perfect as a volume of the kind can be. 

The admirable selection from the writers of our tongue, ranges from Chaucer, 
Spenser and Shakespeare, to our own Hayne, Aldrich and Gilder, and includes 
pieces well known as household words, and others not easily reached except in 
these pages. 

Of the illustrations a blind man is not competent to speak, but I doubt not 
they are most excellent, and will help to convey and impress the meaning of the 
writers. 

If the men and women, young or old, into whose hands this book may come, 
will " read, mark, learn and inwardly digest" its contents until each day "mem- 
ory have its fraught," they will find it a treasure beyond price, attuning the ear 
to the melodies of our noble speech, refining the taste, purging the eye to behold 
the things most real but invisible to mortal sense, informing the mind with "thoughts 
that wander through eternity," and storing the recollection with truths and images 
which cannot die; making them to hea'r 
" Oftentimes 

The still, sad music of humanity, 

Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power 

To chasten and subdue, and they may feel 

A presence that disturbs them with the joy 

Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime 

Of something far more deeply interfused, 

Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, 

And the round ocean and the living air, 

And the blue sky, and in the mind of man: 

A motion, and a spirit, that impels 

All thinking things, all objects of all thought, 

And rolls through all things." 

Sir Richard Steele's famous compliment may have a new application when I 
say, to have it will be a liberal education. 

W. H. MILBURN. 



HOME AND FIRESIDE 




THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 



|Y loved, my honoured, much respected 
| friend ! 

No mercenary hard this homage pays ; 
With honest pride, I scorn each selfish end : 
My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and 
praise : 



To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays, 

The lowly train in life's sequestered scene; 
The native feelings strong, the guileless ways ; 

What Aiken in a cottage would have been ; 
Ah ! though his worth unknown, far happier there I 
ween. 

17 



18 



THE EOYAL GALLERY. 



November chill Maws loud \vi' angry sugh ; 

The shortening winter-day is near a close ; 
The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh ; 

The blackening trains o' craws to their repose; 
The toil-worn Cotter frae his labor goes, 

This night his weekly moil is at an end, 
Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, 

Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend, 
And weary, o'er the moor, his course does hame- 
ward bend. 



His wee bit ingle, blinkin bonnily, 

His clean hearth-stane, his thriftie wine's smile, 
The lisping infant prattling on his knee. 

Does a' his weary carking cares beguile, 
An' makes him quite forget his labor an' his toil. 

Belyve, the elder baims come drapping in, 
At service out, amang the farmers roun' ; 

Some ca' the plough, some herd, some tentie rin 
A cannie errand to a neebor town : 




At length his lonely cot appears in view, 
Beneath the shelter of an aged tree ; 

The expectant wee-things, toddlin, stacher 
through, 
To meet their dad, wi' nichterin noise and glee, 



Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown, 
In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her e'e, 

Comes hame, perhaps, to show a braw new gown 
Or deposite her sair-won penny-fee. 

To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. 



HOME AND FIRESIDE. 



19 



Wi* joy unfeigned brothers and sisters meet, 

An' each for other's welfare kindly spiers : 
The social hours, swift-winged, unnoticed fleet; 

Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears; 
The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years, 

Anticipation forward points the view. 
The mother, wi' her needle an' her shears, 

Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new; 
The father mixes a' wi' admonition due. 



Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray, 

Implore his counsel and assisting might : 
They never sought in vain that sought the Lord 
aright! " 

But, hark! a rap comes gently to the door; 

Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same, 
Tells how a neebor lad cam o'er the moor, 

To do some errands, and convoy her hame. 




"They round the ingle form a circle wide; 
The sire turns o'er wi' patriarchal grace, 
The big ha' -Bible, ance his father's pride." 



Their master's an' their mistress's command. 
The younkers a' are warned to obey; 

An' mind their labors wi' an eydent hand, 
An' ne'er, though out o' sight, to jauk or play: 

"An", O, be sure to fear the Lord alway, 
An' mind your duty, duly, morn an' night! 



The wily mother sees the conscious flame 
Sparkle in Jenny's e"e, and flush her cheek; 

Wi' heart-struck anxious care, inquires his name, 
While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak; 

Weel pleased the mother hears, it 's nae wild worth- 
less rake. 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



Wi' kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben ; 

A strappan youth ; he takes the mother's eye , 
Blythe Jenny sees the visit's no ill ta'en ; 

The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye. 
The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy. 

But, blate and laithfu', scarce can weel behave, 
The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy 

What makes the youth sae bashfu' an' sae grave; 
Weel pleased to think her bairn's respected like the 
lave. 



Is there, in human form, that bears a heart,— 

A wretch ! a villain ! lost to love and truth ! 
That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art, 

Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth? 
Curse on his perjured arts! dissembling smooth! 

Are honor, virtue, conscience, all exiled? 
Is there no pity, no relenting ruth, 

Points to the parents fondling o'er their child? 
Then paints the ruined maid, and their distraction 
wild ! 




-like father reads th. 



- d pagrc 



© happy love ! where love like this is found ! 

O heartfelt raptures ! bliss beyond compare ! 
I've pac6d much this weary, mortal round, 

And sage experience bids me this declare : 
If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare, 

One cordial in this melancholy vale, 
'T is when a youthful, loving, modest pair, 

In other's arms breathe out the tender tale, 
Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening 
gale! 



But now the supper crowns the simple board, 

The halesome pan-itch, chief o' Scotia's food: 
The soup their only hawkie does afford, 

That 'yont the hallan snugly chows her cood • 
The dame brings forth in complimental mood, 

To grace the lad, her well-hained kebbuck fell, 
An' aft he's prest, an' aft he ca's it guid ; 

The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell 
How 't was a towmond auld, sin' lint was i' i 
bell. 



HOME AND FIRESIDE. 



21 



The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face. 

They, round the ingle, form a circle wide; 
The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace, 

The Dig ha'-Bihle, ance his father's pride : 
His honnet reverently is laid aside, 

His lyart haff ets wearing thin an' hare ; 
Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide, 

He wales a portion with judicious care; 
And "Let us worship God!" he says, with solemn 
air. 



Or noble "Elgin '* beets the heavenward flame, 
The sweetest far of Scotia's hoty lays : 

Compared with these, Italian trills are tame; 
The tickled ears no heartfelt raptures raise?; 

Xae unison hae they with our Creator's praise. 

The priest-like father reads the sacred page, 
How Abrain was the friend of God on high; 

Or Moses bade eternal warfare wage 
With Amalek*s ungracious progeny; 




The parent pair their 



They chant their artless notes in simple guise ; 

They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim : 
Perhaps "Dundee's" mid warbling measures 
rise, 

Or plaintive "Martyrs," worthy of the name; 



Or how the royal Bard did groaning lie 
Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire: 

Or Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry; 
Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire; 

Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre. 



22 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme, 

How guiltless hlood for guilty man was shed; 
How He, who hore in Heaven the second name. 

Had not on earth whereon to lay His head ; 
How His first followers and servants sped ; 

The precepts sage they -wrote to many a land : 
How He, who lone in Patmos banished, 

Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand; 
And heard great Babylon's doom pronounced 
Heaven's command. 



by 



There ever bask in uncreated rays, 
No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear, 

Together hymning their Creator's praise, 
In such society, yet still more dear ; 

"While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere. 

Compared with this, how poor Religion's pride, 
In all the pomp of method, and of art, 

"When men display to congregations wide 
Devotion's every grace, except the heart I 




1 He who stills the raven's clamorou: 



Then kneeling down, to Heaven's Eternal King 
The saint, the husband, and the father 
prays : 

Hope " springs exulting on triumphant wing," 
That thus they all shall meet in future days : 



The Power, incensed, the pageant will desert, 
The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole; 

But haply, in some cottage far apart, 
May hear, well pleased, the language of the soul; 

And in His book of life the inmates poor enroll. 



HOME AND FIRESIDE. 



23 



Then homeward all take off their several way ; 

The youngling cottagers retire to rest : 
The parent-pair their secret homage pay, 

And proffer up to Heaven the warm request, 
That He, who stills the raven's clamorous nest, 

And decks the lily fair, in flowery pride, 
Would, in the way His wisdom sees the best, 

For them and for their little ones provide ; 
But chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine 
preside. 

From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs. 

That make her loved at home, revered abroad : 
Princes and lords are but the breath of kings; 

" An honest man 's the noblest work of God : " 
And certes, in fair virtue's heavenly road, 

The cottage leaves the palace far behind ; 
What is a lordling's pomp? a cumbrous load, 

Disguising oft the wretch of human kind, 
Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refined J 



O Scotia ! my dear, my native soil ! 

For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent! 
Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil 

Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content! 
And, O, may Heaven their simple lives prevent 

From luxury's contagion, weak and vile! 
Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent, 

A virtuous populace may rise the while. 
And stand a wall of fire around their much-ioved 
isle. 

O Thou ! who poured the patriotic tide 

That streamed through Wallace's undaunted heart;. 
Who dared to nobly stem tyrannic pride, 

Or nobly die, the second glorious part. 
(The patriot's God, peculiarly Thou art, 

His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward! 
O never, never Scotia's realm desert ; 

But still the patriot, and the patriot-hard, 
In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard! 

Bobert Burns. 



MAKE HOME-LIFE BEAUTIFUL. 



^Y^ET mc say to parents: Make the home-life beautiful, without and within, and 
Ppf they will sow the seeds of gentleness, true kindness, honesty and fidelity, 
^ in the hearts of their children, from which the children reap a harvest 
of happiness and virtue. The memory of the beautiful and happy home of childhood 
is the richest legacy any man can leave to his children. The heart will never forget 
its hallowed influences. It will be an evening enjoyment, to which the lapse of years 
will only add new sweetness. Such a home is a constant inspiration for good, and as- 
constant a restraint from evil. 

If by taste and culture we adorn our homes 
and grounds and add to their charms, our 
children will find the quiet pleasures of rural 
homes' more attractive than the whirl of city 
life. Such attractions and enjoyments Mill 
invest home-life, school-life, the whole future 
of life with new interests and with new dignity 
and joyousness, for life is just what we make 
it. We may by our blindness live in a world 
of darkness and gloom, or in a world full of 
sunlight and beauty and joy ; for the world 
without only reflects the world within. Also, the 
tasteful improvement of grounds and home exerts a good influence not only upon the 
inmates, but upon the community. An elegant dwelling, surrounded by sylvan attractions, 
is a contribution to the refinement, the good order, the taste and prosperity of every 
community, improving the public taste and ministering to every enjoyment. 

B. G. Northrup, 




24 



THE EOYAL GALLERY. 



SONGS OF SEVEN. 



m. 



SEVEN TIMES ONE.— EXULTATION. 



f HERE'S no dew left on the daisies and clover. 
There's no rain left in heaven. 
I've said my "seven times" over and over — 
Seven times one aqp seven. 

I am old — so old I can write a letter; 

My birthday lessons are done. 
The lambs play always — they know no better ; 

They are only one times one. 



I hope, if you have, you will soon be forgiven, 
And shine again in your place. 

O velvet Bee ! you're a dusty fellow — 

You've powdered your legs with gold. 

O brave marsh Mary-buds, rich and yellow, 
Give me your money to holdl 

O Columbine ! open your folded wrapper, 
Where two twin turtle-doves dwell! 




■y0^<\ \\\ 



am seven times one to-day." 



O Moon ! in the night I have seen you sailing 

And shining so round and low. 
You were bright — ah, bright— but your light is failing ; 

You are nothing now but a bow. 

You Moon ! have you done something wrong in heaven, 
That God has hidden your face? 



Cuckoo-pint! toll me the purple clapper 

That hangs in your clear green bell ! 

And show me your nest, with the young ones in : 
I will not steal them away; 

1 am old! you may trust me, linnet, linnet! 

I am seven times one to-day. 



HOME AND FIRESIDE. 



SEVEN TIMES TWO. — ROMANCE. 

|OU bells in the steeple, ring, ring out your changes 

How many soever they be, 
And let the brown meadow-lark's note as he ranges 

Come over, come over to me. 

Yet bird's clearest carol by fall or by swelling 

No magical sense conveys, 
And bells have forgotten their old art of telling 

The fortune of future days. 



I wait for the day when dear hearts shall discover. 
While dear hands are laid on my head; 

" The child is a woman, the book may close 
over, 
For all the lessons are said." 

I wait for my story — the birds cannot sing it, 

Not one, as he sits on the tree ; 
The bells cannot ring it, but long years, O bring it! 

Such as I wish it to be. 




1 1 leaned out of window, I smelt the white clovci 
Dark, dark was the garden, I saw not the gate." 



"Turn again, turn again," once they rang cheerily, 

While a boy listened alone ; 
Made his heart yearn again, musing so wearily 

All by himself on a stone. 

Poor bells ! I forgive you ; your good days are over, 

And mine, they are yet to be ; 
No listening, no longing shall aught, aught discover : 

You leave the story to me. 

The fox-glove shoots out of the green matted heather, 

Preparing her hoods of snow ; 
She was idle, and slept till the sunshiny weather : 

O children take long to grow. 

I wish, and I wish that the spring would go faster, 

Nor long summer bide so late ; 
And I could grow ou like the fox-glove and aster, 

For some things are ill to wait. 



SEVEN TIMES THREE.— LOVE. 

(V 3 LEANED out of window. I smelt the white clover, 
JA^ Dark, dark was the garden, I saw not the gate ; 
^f? " Now, if there be footsteps, he comes, my one 
W lover — 

Hush, nightingale, hush! O sweet nightingale, 
wait 
Till I listen and hear 
If a step draweth near, 
For my love he is late ! 

" The skies in the darkness stoop nearer and nearer, 

A cluster of stars hangs like fruit in the tree, 

The fall of the water comes sweeter, comes clearer : 

To what art thou listening, and what dose thou see? 

Let the star-clusters glow. 

Let the sweet waters flow, 

And cross quickly to me. 



26 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



"You night-moths that hover where honey hrims over 

From sycamore blossoms, or settle or sleep ; 
You glow-worms, shine out, and the pathway discover 
To him that comes darkling along the rough steep. 
Ah, my sailor, make haste, 
For the time runs to waste, 
And my love lieth deep — 

*' Too deep lor swift telling; and yet, my one lover, 
I've conned thee an answer, it waits thee to-night. 1 ' 
By the sycamore passed he, and through the white 
clover ; 
Then all the sweet speech I had fashioned took flight ; 
But I'll love him more, more 
Than e'er wife loved before, 
Be the days dark or bright. 



SEVEN TIMES FOUR. — MATERNITY. 

5IGH-HO ! daisies and buttercups, 
Fair yellow daffodils, stately and tall ! 
j^TWhen the wind wakes how they rock in the 
grasses, 
And dance with the cuckoo-buds slender and small! 
Here's two bonny boys, and here's mother's own 
lasses, 
Eager to gather them all. 

Heigh-ho ! daises and buttercups ! 

Mother shall thread them a daisy chain ; 
Sing them a song of the pretty hedge-sparrow, 
That loved her brown little ones, loved them full 
fain ; 
Sing. "Heart, thou art wide, though the house be but 
narrow,'" — 
Sing once and sing it again. 

Heigh-ho ! daisies and buttercups, 

Sweet wagging cowslips, they bend and they bow; 
A ship sails afar over warm ocean waters, 

And haply one musing doth stand at her prow. 
O bonny brown sons, and O sweet little daughters, 
Maybe he thinks on you now ! 

Heigh-ho ! daisies and buttercups, 

Fair yellow daffodils, stately and tall — 
A sunshiny world full of laughter and leisure, 

And fresh hearts unconscious of sorrow and thrall 
Send down on their pleasure-smiles passing its meas- 
ure, 
God that is over us all ! 



SEVEN TIMES FIVE.— WIDOWHOOD. 



For children wake, though fathers sleep, 
With a stone at foot and at head; 

sleepless God ! forever keep, 
Keep both living and dead ! 

1 lift mine eyes, and what to see, 
But a world happy and fair ; 

I have not wished it to mourn with me, 
Comfort is not there. 

O what anear but golden brooms ! 

And a waste of reedy rills ; 
O what afar but the tine glooms 

On the rare blue hills 1 




'Heigh-ho! daisies and buttercups, 
Fair yellow daffodils, stately and tall." 



I shall not die, but live forlore — 
How bitter it is to part! 

to meet thee, my love, once more! — 
O my heart, my heart! 

No more to hear, no more to see ! 

that an echo might awake 

And waft one note of thy psalm to me, 
Ere my heart-strings break ! 

1 should know it how faint so e'er, 
And with angel voices blent ; 

O once to feel thy spirit anear, 

1 could be content! 



SLEEP and rest, my heart makes moan, 

Before I am well awake ; 
"Let me bleed! Oh, let me alone, 

Since I must not break! " 



O once between the gates of gold, 
While an angel entering trod; 

But once — thee sitting to behold 
On the hills of God. 



HOME AND FIRESIDE. 



27 



SEVEN TIMES SIX.— GIVING IN MARRIAGE. 

^tljpO bear, to nurse, to rear, 
g!§b To watch, and then to lose : 
Jp+ To see 1113- bright ones disappear, 
|| ^ Drawu U P likc morning dews ;— 

1 J To bear, to nurse, to rear, 

To watch, and then to lose : 
This have 1 done when God drew near 

Among his own to choose. 

To hear, to heed, to wed, 

And with thy lord depart 
In tears that he, as soon as shed, 

Will let no longer sinart.- 
To hear, to heed, to wed, 

This whilst thou didst I smiled, 
For now it was not God who said, 

"Mother, give me thy child." 

Ofond. Ofool, and blind. 

To God I gave with tears: 
But, when a man like grace would find, 

My soul put by her fears. 
Ofond, Ofool, and blind, 

God guards in happier spheres; 
That man will guard where he did bind 

Is hope for unknown years. 

To hear, to heed, to wed, 

Fair lot that maidens choose, 
Thy mother's tenderest words are said. 

Thy face no more she views; 
Thy mother's lot, my dear, 

She doth in naught accuse; 
Her lot to bear, to nurse, to rear, 

To love— and then to lose. 



SEVEN TIMES SEVEN.— LONGINGS FOR HOME. 

A Song of .1 Boat. 

|HEEE was once a boat on a billow: 
Lightly she rocked to her port remote, 
And the foam was white in her wake like 
snow, 

And her frail mast bowed when the breeze 
would blow, 
And bent like a wand of willow. 

I shaded mine eyes one day when a boat 

Went curtseying over the billow, 
I marked her course till a dancing mote, 
She faded out on the moonlit foam, 



And I stayed behind in the dear loved borne; 
And my thoughts all day were about the boat, 
And my dreams upon the pillow. 

I pray you hear my song of a boat, 

For it is but short: — 
My boat, you shall find none fairer afloat, 

In river or port. 
Long I looked out for the lad she bore. 

On the open desolate sea; 
And I think he sailed to the heavenly shore, 

For he came not back to me— 

Ah, me! 



^ A Song of a Nest. 

. • 

•fHERE was once a nest in a hollow, 

Down in the mosses and knot-grass pressed 
1 Soft and warm and full to the brim ; 
Vetches leaned over it purple and dim; 
With buttercup buds to follow. 

, I pray you hear my song of a nest, 

For it is not long : — 
You shall never light in a summer quest 

The bushes among — 
Shall never light on a prouder sitter, 

A fairer nestful, nor ever know 
A softer sound than their tender twitter, 

That wind-like did come and go. 

I had a nestful once of my own— 

Ah, happy, happy I! 
Eight dearly I loved them 
grown 

They spread out their wings to fly 
Oh, one after one they flew away, 

Far up to the heavenl}- blue, 
To the better country, the upper day; 

And— I wish I was going, too. 



but when they were 



I pray you, what is the nest to me, 

My empty nest? 
And what is the shore where I stood to see 

My boat sail down to the west? 
Can I call that home where I anchor yet, 

Though my good man has sailed? 
Can I call that home where my nest was set, 

Now all its hope hath failed? 
Nay, but the port where my sailor went. 

And the land where my nestlings be: 
There is the home where my thoughts are sent. 

The only home for me— 

Ah, me! 

Jean Ingelow. 



28 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET. 



|OW dear to my heart are the scenes of my child- 
hood, 
When fond recollection presents them to view ! — 
The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild- 
wood, 
And every loved spot which my infancy knew ! 
The wide-spreading pond, and the mill that stood by 
it; 
The bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell ; 



How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing, 
And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell ! 

Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing, 
And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well — 

The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, 
The moss-covered bucket arose from the well. 

How sweet from the green, mossy brim to receive it, 
As, poised on the curb, it inclined to my lips! 




' The cot of my father, the d 



nigh 



l ne cot ot my lamer, tne aairy-nouse mgn it ; 
And e'en the' rude bucket that hung in the well 



The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it ; 

And e'en the rude bucket that hung in the well — 
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, 

The moss-covered bucket which hung in the well. 

That moss-covered vessel I hailed as a treasure ; 

For often at noon, when returned from the field, 
I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure — 

The purest and sweetest that nature can yield. 



Not a full, blushing goblet could tempt me to leave % 

The brightest that beauty or revehy sips. 
And now, far removed from the loved habitation, 

The tear of regret will intrusively swell, 
As fancy reverts to my father's plantation, 

And sighs for the bucket that hangs in the well — 
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, 

The moss-covered bucket that hangs in the well! 

Samuel Wood worth. 




JteT>honivRtkruAe,uj)uftecLhar\(L 
J"U dlitjctrircaten-or commarut ® 

Jkninasomewlutlonger dress. 
Jie row Would tremble Lo caress. 



Jn3 hetohera hero is, 
^Lnd sweeter she than "brimTOses; 
'S'h.eir common stance JUarerftf 
%hm Tiiglilinjjale, § mavis arc 



i by The stilt ablage slit stops'; • 
^[ricl "his demurer eyes he drojis 
jjKow they exchange aVerbed §\ghs. 
Ot stand § marry sile.at ej 



<^(ow,wlu-ntti<y sever wediel InnJs, 
@ Joj kremblcsitittieirtosom-slrands, 

@,nd lovely laughter leaps xn& jiH$ 
Ctyon tluir lr(>s in madrigals. 




tf«".5jw« 



IT IS THE SEASON 



HOME AXD FIRESIDE. 



1% 



GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD. 



UgHEY grew in beauty side by side, 
Jgll| They filled one home with glee ; 
"^F" Their graves are severed far and wide 

| By mount, and stream, and sea. 

| The same fond mother bent at night 
O'er each fair sleeping brow; 
She had each folded flower in sight — 

Where are those dreamers now? 



One sleeps where southern vines are dressed 

Above the noble slain ; 
He wrapped his colors round his breast 

On a blood-red field of Spain. 
And one— o'er her the myrtle showers 

Its leaves, by soft winds fanned; 
She faded 'mid Italian flowers, 

The last of that bright band. 




"One 'mid the forest of the West 
By a dark stream is laid ; 

The Indian knows his place of re 
Far in the cedar shade. " 



One 'mid the forests of the West, 

By a dark stream is laid ; 
The Indian knows his place of rest, 

Far in the cedar shade. 
The sea, the blue lone sea, hath one 

He lies where pearls lie deep ; 
He was the loved of all, yet none 

O'er his low bed may weep. 



And, parted thus, they rest who played 

Beneath the same green tree, 
Whose voices mingled as they prayed 

Around one parent-knee ! 
They that with smiles lit up the hall, 

And cheered with song the hearth ■ 
Alas for love, if thou wert all, 

And naught beyond, O Earth! 

Felicia Dorothea Hemans. 



THE EOYAL GALLERY. 



MY CHILDHOOD HOME. 



|HEEE"S a little low but by tbc river's side, 
Within tbe sound of its -rippling tide; 
Its walls are grey witb tbe mosses of years, 
And its roof all crumbled and old appears ; 
But fairer to me tban castle's pride 
Is tbe little low but by tbe river's side ! 

The little low but was my natal rest, 

When my childhood passed — Life's springtime blest; 

Where the hopes of ardent youth were formed, 

And the sun of promise my young heart warmed, 

Ere I threw myself on life's swift tide, 

And left the dear hut by the river's side. 

That little low hut, in lowly guise. 
Was soft and grand to my youthful eyes, 
And fairer trees were ne'er known before, 
Than the apple-trees by tbe humble door — 
That my father loved for their thrifty pride — 
That shadowed the hut by the river's side. 

That little low hut had a glad hearthstone, 
That echoed of old with a pleasant tone, 
Andbrotbers and sisters, a merry crew, 
Filled the hours with pleasure as on they flew ; 
But one by one the loved ones died, 
That dwelt in the hut by tbe river's side. 



The father revered and the children gay 

The graves of the world have called away : 

But quietly, all alone, here sits 

By the pleasant window, in summer, and knits, 

An aged woman, long years allied 

With the little low hut by tbe river's side. 

That little low hut to the lonely wife 
Is the cherished stage of her active life ; 
Each scene is recalled in memory's beam, 
As she sits by the window in pensive dream 
And joys and woes roll back like a tide 
In that little low hut by the river's side. 

My mother — alone by the river's side 

She waits for the flood of the heavenly tide, 

And the voice that shall thrill her heart with its call 

To meet once more with the dear ones all, 

And forms in a region beautified, 

The band that once met by tbe river's side. 

The dear old hut by the river's side 

With the warmest pulse of my heart is allied — 

And a glory is over its dark walls thrown, 

That statelier fabrics have never known — 

And I shall love with a fonder pride 

That little low hut by tbe river's side. 

B. P. Shillaber (Mrs. Partington). 



RAIN ON THE ROOF. 



?HEN" the humid shadows hover 
Over all the starry spheres, 
And the melancholy darkness 
Gently weeps in rainy tears, 
I What a bhss to press the pillow 
Of a cottage-chamber bed 
And to listen to the patter 
Of the soft rain overhead ! 

Every tinkle on the shingles 

Has an echo in the heart; 
And a thousand dreamy fancies 

Into busy being start, 
And a thousand recollections 

Weave their air-threads into woof, 
As I listen to the patter 

Of the rain upon the roof. 

Now in memory comes my mother 

As she used long years agone, 
To regard the darling dreamers 

Ere she icf t then till the dawn ; 
Ob, I see her leaning o'er me, 

As I list to this refrain 
Y.Tiich is played upon the shingles 

By the patter of the rain. 



Then my little seraph sister, 

With her wings and waving hair 
And her star-eyed cherub brother 

A serene angelic pair!— 
Glide around my wakeful pillow, 

With their praise or mild reproo 
As I listen to the murmur 

Of the soft rain on the roof. 

And another comes to thrill me 

With her eyes' delicious blue ; 
And I mind not, musing on her, 

That her heart was all untrue : 
I remember but to love her 

With a passion kin to pain, 
And my heart's quick pulses vibrate 

To the patter of the rain. 

Art hath naught of tone or cadence 

That can work with such a spell 
In the soul's mysterious fountains, 

Whence the tears of rapture well 
As that melody of nature, 

That subdued, subduing strain 
Which is played upon the shingles 

By the patter of the rain. 

Coates Kinney. 



HOME AND FIBESLDE. 



31 



BAIRNIES, CUDDLE DOON. 




bairnies cuddle doon at nieht, 
Wi' muekle faucht an' din'; 
Oh try and sleep, ye waukrif rogues, 
Your feyther's comin' in!" 

They dinua hear a word I speak; 
I try an 1 gie a frown, 

But aye I hap them up and cry, 
" O bairnies, cuddle doon!" 

Wee Jaimie, wi' the curly heid, 

He aye sleeps next the wa\ 
Bangs up and cries, " I want a piece'" 

The rascal starts them a" ! 
I rin an' fetch them pieces — drinks — 

They stop a wee the soun', 
Then draw the blankets up and cry 

"O weanies, cuddle doon!" 

But scarce Ave minutes gang, wee Bab 

Cries out frae neath the claes : 
"Mither, mak Tarn gie ower at ance ! 

He's kittlin wi' his taes!" 
The mischiefs in that Tarn for tricks, 

He 'd baither half^the touu; 
But still I hap them up and cry, 

" bairnies, cuddle doon!" 



At length they hear their feyther's step, 

And as he nears the door 
They draw their blankets o'er their heids, 

And Tarn pretinds to snore. 
" Hae a' the weans been guid?" he asks, 

As he pits off his shoon; 
" The bairnies, John, are in their beds, 

And king since cuddled doon." 

And just afore we bed oursels 

We look at our wee lambs ; 
Tarn has his airm round wee Bab's neck, 

And Bab his airm round Tarn's. 
I lift wee Jaimie up the bed, 

And as I straik each crown, 
I whisper, till my hairt Alls up, 

" O bairnies, cuddle doon!" 

The bairnies cuddle doon at nicht, 

Wi' mirth that's dear to me, 
For sure the big waii's cark an' care 

Will quaten doon their glee. 
But coom what will to ilka ane, 

May he who sits abune 
Aye whisper, tho' their pows be bald, 

" O bairnies, cuddle doon!" 

Alexander Anderson. 



A 



OLD FOLKS AT HOME. 



' AY down upon de Swanee Bibber, 
Far, far away — 
)are's wha» my heart is turning ebber — 
Dare's wha de old folks stay. 
All up and down de whole creation, 

Sadly I roam ; 
Still longing for de old plantation, 
\nd for de old folks at home. 

All de world am sad and dreary, 

Eb'rywhere I roam; 
Oh, darkeys, how my heart grows weary, 

Far from de old folks at home. 

All round de little farm I wandered, 
When I was young ; 



Den many happy days I squandered, 

Many de songs I sung. 
When I was playing wid my brudder, 

Happy was I ; 
Oh! take me to my kind old mudder! 

Dare let me live and die ! 

One little hut among de bushes — 

One dat I love — 
Still sadly to my memory rushes, 

No matter where I rove. 
When will I see de bees a-humming, 

All round de comb? 
When will I hear de banjo tumming 

Down in my good old home? 

Stephen Collins Foster. 



HOME, SWEET HOME. 



'ID pleasures and palaces though we may roam, 
§ Be it ever so humble there's no place like home ! 
) A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there, 
Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met 
with elsewhere. 
Home ! home ! sweet, sweet home ! 
There's no place like home ' 



An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain : 
Oh, give me my lowly thatched cottage again! 
The birds singing gaily that came at my call — 
Give me them — and the peace of mind dearer than all ! 

Home ! home ! sweet, sweet home ! 

There's no place like home ! 

John Howard Payne. 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



BE KIND. 



IllfE kind to thy father, for when thon wast young, 
i~| Who loved thee as fondly as he? 
JK He caught the first accents that fell from thy 
y |J tongue, 

* And joined in thine innocent glee. 
Be kind to thy father, for now he is old, 

His locks intermingled with gray, 
His footsteps are feehle, once fearless and bold; 
Thy father is passing away. 

Be kind to thy mother, for, lo ! on her brow 

May traces of sorrow be seen : 
Oh, well may'st you cherish and comfort her now, 

For loving and kind hath she been. 
Remember thy mother, for thee will she pray 

As long as God giveth her breath ; 
With accents of kindness then cheer her lone way, 

E'en to the dark valley of death. 



Be kind to thy brother, his heart will have dearth, 

If the smile of thy love be withdrawn ; 
The flowers of feeling will fade at their birth, 

If the dew of affection be gone. 
Be kind to thy brother, wherever you are, 

The love of a brother shall be 
An ornament, purer and richer by far, 

Than pearls from the depths of the sea. 

Be kind to thy sister, not many may know 

The depth of true sisterly love ; 
The wealth of the ocean lies fathoms below 

The surface that sparkles above. 
Thy kindness shall bring to thee many sweet 
hours, 

And blessings thy pathway to crown, 
Affection shall weave thee a garland of flowers, 

More precious than wealth or renown. 



MT OLD KENTUCKY HOME. 



sun shines bright in our old Kentucky home ; 
'Tis summer, the darkeys are gay ; 
P" The corn-top's ripe and the meadow's in the 

bloom, 

While the birds make music all the day; 
The young folks roll on the little cabin floor, 

All merry, all happy, all bright; ' 

By'm by hard times comes a knockin' at the door — 
Then my old Kentucky home, good night! 

Weep no more, my lady; O, weep no more 

to-day! 
We'll sing one song for the old Kentucky home, 
For our old Kentucky home far away. 

They hunt no more for the 'possum and the coon, 
On the meadow, the hill and the shore ; 



They sing no more by the glimmer of the moon, 

On the bench by the old cabin door ; 
The day goes by, like a shadow o'er the heart, 

With sorrow, where all was delight ; 
The time has come when the darkeys have to part^ 

Then my old Kentucky home, good night ! 

The head must bow, and the back will have to bend, 

Wherever the darkey may go ; 
A few more days, and the troubles all will end, 

In the fields where the sugar-cane grow ; 
A few more days to tote the weary load, 

No matter, it will never be light; 
A few more days till we totter on the road, 

Then my old Kentucky home, good night! 

Stephen Collins Foster. 



MOTHEES, SPAEE YOTIESELVES. 



LANY a mother grows old, faded, and feeble long before her time, because her boys 
and girls are not thoughtfully considerate and helpful. When they become old 
enough to be of service in a household, mother has become so used to doino- all, 
herself, to taking upon her shoulders all the care, that she forgets to lay off the burden 
little by little, on those who are so well able to bear it. It is partly her own fault, to be 
sure, but a fault committed out of love and mistaken kindness for her children. 



HOME AND FERESIDE. 



IN A STRANGE LAND. 



jigiijH, to be home again, home again, home again! 
^|f§> Under the apple-boughs, down by the mill ; 
Vfl^'Mother is calling me, father is calling me, 
Jl Calling me, calling me, calling me still. 

Oh, how I long to be wandering, wandering 
Through the green meadows and over the hill; 



Sisters are calling me, brothers are calling me, 
Calling me, calling me, calling me still. 

Oh, once more to be home again, home again, 
Dark grows my sight, and the evening is chill — 

Do you not hear how the voices are calling me, 
Calling me, calling me, calling me still? 

James Thomas Fields. 



,>o<=#=>^o 




THE PATTER OF LITTLE FEET. 



with the sun in the morning, 
Away to the garden he hies, 
To see if the sleeping blossoms 
Have begun to open their eyes. 

Running a race with the wind, 
With a step as light and fleet, 

Under my window I hear 
The patter of little feet. 

Now to the brook he wanders, 

In swift and noiseless flight, 
Splashing the sparkling ripples 

Like a fairy water-sprite. 

No sand under fabled river 
Has gleams like his golden hair, 

No pearly sea-shell is fairer 
Than his slender ankles bare. 

Nor the rosiest stem of coral, 

That blushes in ocean's bed, 
Is sweet as the flash that follows 

Our darling's airy tread. 

From a broad window my neighbor, 
Looks down on our little cot, 

And watches the "poor man's blessing"— 
I cannot envy his lot. 

He has pictures, books, and music, 
Bright fountains, and noble trees, 

Hare store of blossoming roses, 
Birds from beyond the seas. 



But never does childish laughter 
His homeward footsteps greet; 

His stately halls ne'er echo 
To the tread of innocent feet. 

This child is our "sparkling picture," 
A birdling that chatters and sings, 

Sometimes a sleeping cherub, 
(Our other one has wings.) 

His heart is a charmed casket, 
Full of all that's cunning and sweet, 

And no harpstring holds such music 
As follows his twinkling feet. 

When the glory of sunset opens 
The highway by angels trod, 

And seems to unbar the city 
Whose builder and maker is God — 

Close to the crystal portal, 

I see by the gates of pearl, 
The eyes of our other angel — 

A twin-born little girl. 

And I ask to be taught and directed 
To guide his footsteps aright; 

So to live that I may be ready 
To walk in sandals of light — 

And hear, amid songs of welcome, 
From messengers trusty and fleet, 

On the starry floor of heaven, 
The patter of little feet. 



34 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



^. 



CATCHING SHADOWS. 



|HEN the day and dark are blended, 
jSK And the weary tasks are ended, 
i Sits the little mother humming, 
^P Waiting sound of his dear coming, 
Y Who, the lord of love's domain, 
t Yet to her yields all again. 

Then the winsome, wee one, nestling 
In her bosom, spies the wrestling, 
Dancing shadows rise and fall, 
Phantom-like upon the wall, 
As the flickering firelight flashes 
From among the flames and ashes. 

Loud he laughs, in baby glee. 

At their elfin revelry ; 

At the lilting, lithe, elastic, 

Airy, fairy forms fantastic, 

Now receding, now advancing, 

Coy as love from young eyes glancing. 



Not eclipse and umbrage dim, 
These are sentient things to him ; 
Wherefore, wistful welcome lending, 
Tiny hands are soon extending, 
Snatching, catching, quick and eager, 
At the shapes that him beleaguer. 



Oft he clasps them, grasps them, yet 
They but fool him, they coquet; 
Vain his striving and endeavor, 
They elude and mock him ever, 
They delude and still deceive him, 
They perplex and vex and grieve him. 

Much he wonders, ponders why 
When they beckon yet they fly, 
And the tear in his blue eye 
Shines as rain from sunny sky. 
Soon he turns — the cruel seeming 
Fades away, and he lies dreaming. 

E. Hannaford. 



A CRADLE HYMN. 



F|USH! my dear, lie still, and slumber, 
.. Holy angels guard thy bed ! 
eavenly blessings without number 
Gently falling on thy head. 

Sleep, my babe ; thy food and raiment, 
House and home thy friends provide; 

All without thy care or payment, 
All thy wants are well supplied. 

How much better thou 'rt attended 
Than the Son of God could be, 

When from heaven he descended, 
And became a child like thee. 

Soft and easy is thy cradle : 
Coarse and hard thy Saviour lay : 

When his birthplace was a stable, 
And his softest bed was hay. 

See the kinder shepherds round him, 
Telling wonders from the sky! 



There they sought him, there they found him, 
With his virgin mother by. 

See the lovely Babe a-dressing; 

Lovely Infant, how he smiled ! 
When he wept, the mother's blessing 

Soothed and hushed the holy Child. 

Lo! he slumbers in his manger, 

Where the horned oxen fed; 
Peace, my darling, here 's no danger, 

Here 's no ox anear thy bed. 

Mayst thou live to know and fear him, 

Trust and love him all thy days; 
Then go dwell forever near him, 

See his face, and sing his praise! 

I could give thee thousand kisses, 

Hoping what I most desire ; 
Not a mother's fondest wishes 

Can to greater joys aspire. 

Isaac Watts. 



HOME AND FIRESIDE. 



35 




JOYS OF HOME. 



'WEET are the joys of home, 
" And pure as sweet ; for they 
" Like dews of morn and evening come, 
To make and close the day. 



The world hath its delights, 
And its delusions, too ; 

But home to calmer hliss invites, 
More tranquil and more true. 



56 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO. 



)HN" ANDERSON", my jo, John, 
When we were first acquent, 
^Your locks were like the raven, 
Your bonnie brow was brent ; 
But now your brow is bald, John, 
Your locks are like the snow ; 
But blessings on your frosty pow, 
John Anderson, my jo. 



John Anderson, my jo, John, 

We clamb the hill tbegither; 
And monie a canty day, John, 

We've had wi' ane anither. 
Now we maun totter down, John, 

But hand in hand we'll go ; 
And sleep thegither at the foot, 

John Anderson, my jo. 

Robert Burns. 







CHRISTMAS STOCKINGS. 



|ERE the stockings were swung in their red, 
white, and blue, 
All fashioned to feet that were light as the 

dew. 

Ah, the fragrant old faith when we watched the 
cold gray 
Reluctantly line the dim border of day, 



When we braved the bare floor with our little bare 

feet— 
No shrine to a pilgrim was ever so sweet. 
When each heart and each stocking was burdened 

with bliss — 
On the verge of two worlds there is nothing like this 
But a mother's last smile and a lover's first kiss ! 

Benjamin F. Taylor. 







*p^>r 




9 



IS^lS 



Tie ^rcu calkzdral torvers* 

ylooat ifc larrcli far andjaint 

Z^tic jackdaw call and h, 

■'•A JtepipaA precinct dosej 

<^^>FtuL through, loir Undtm nipk* 

tt . skcjxd in Ike mclW afternoon 

jj&) canon's niece goes ty, I 



id -qreri/e and. b[ ue [,-£ • 
^jWr c/ianls drorKruj; 
Iphe organ h.ui ms rep! w ; i 

^moi4.<; ani Jniil6S Stolid: 

JMiottx well fe^as^Mu 



A MEMORY 



LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 




ON THE DOORSTEP. 



;HE conference meeting through at last, 
We hoys around the vestry waited 
W To see the girls come tripping past 

Like snowbirds willing to be mated. 



Not braver he that leaps the wall 
By level musket-flashes litten, 

Than I, who stepped before them all, 
"Who longed to see me get the mitten. 
37 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



But no ; she blushed, and took my arm ! 

We let the old folks have the highway, 
And started toward the Maple Farm 

Along a kind of lover's by-way. 

I can't remember what we said, 

'T was nothing worth a song or story ; 

Yet that rude path by which we sped 
Seemed all transformed and in a glory. 

The snow was crisp beneath our feet. 
The moon was full, the fields were gleaming, 

By hood and tippet sheltered sweet 
Her face with youth and health was beaming. 

The little hand outside her muff — 
O sculptor, if you could but mold it! 

So lightly touched my jacket-cuff, 
To keep it warm I had to hold it. 

To have her with me there alone — 

'T was love and fear and triumph blended. 

At last we reached the foot-worn stone 
Where that delicious journey ended. 



The old folks, too, were almost home ; 

Her dimpled hand the latches fingered, 
We heard the voices nearer come, 

Yet on the doorstep still we lingered. 

She shook her ringlets from her hood, 
And with a "Thank you, Ned," dissembled, 

But yet 1 knew she understood 
With what a daring wish I trembled. 

A cloud passed kindly overheard, 

The moon was slyly peeping through it, 

Yet hid its face, as if it said, 

"Come, now or never! do it! do it!" 

My lips till then had only known 

The kiss of mother and of sister, 
But somehow, full upon her own 

Sweet, rosy, darling mouth— I kissed her! 

Perhaps 't was boyish love, yet still, 

O listless woman, weary lover! 
To feel once more that fresh, wild thrill 

I'd give — But who can live youth over? 
Edmund Clarence Stedjian. 



THE DEPARTURE. 



NT) on her lover's arm she leant, 

And round her waist she felt it fold ; 
And far across the hills they went 

Iu that new world which is the old. 
Across the hills, and far away 

Beyond their utmost purple rim, 
And deep into the dying day, 

The happy princess followed him. 

"I'd sleep another hundred years, 

O love, for such another kiss; "' 
"O wake forever, love, "..she hears, 

"O love, 't was such as this and this; " 
And o'er them many a sliding star, 

And many a merry wind was borne. 
And streamed through many a golden bar, 

The twilight melted intc morn. 



" O eyes long laid in happy sleep ! " 

" O happy sleep, that lightly fled ! " 
" O happy kiss, that woke thy sleep ! " 

" O love, thy kiss would wake the dead ! " 
And o'er them many a flowing range 

Of vapor buoyed the crescent bark ; 
And, rapt through many a rosy change, 

The twilight died into the dark. 
A hundred summers! can it be? 

And whither goest thou, tell me where? 
"O seek my father's court with me, 

For there are greater wonders there." 
And o'er the hills, and far away 

Beyond their utmost purple rim, 
Beyond the night, across the day, 

Through all the world she followed him. 
Alfred Tennyson. 



^J-S^SX^o 



FIRST LOVE. 



; IS sweet to hear, 

At midnight on the blue and moonlit deep, 
The song and oar of Adria's gondolier; 

By distance mellowed, o'er the waters sweep . 
'Tis sweet to see the evening star appear , 

'Tis sweet to listen as the night-winds creep 
From leaf to leaf; 'tis sweet to view on high 
The rainbow, based on ocean, span the sky. 



'Tis sweet to hear the watch-dog's honest bark 
Bay deep-mouthed welcome as we draw near home ; 

'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark 
Our coming, and look brighter when we come. 

'Tis sweet to be awakened by the lark, 
Or lulled by falling waters; sweet the hum 

Of bees, the voice of girls, the song of birds, 

The lisp of children, and their earliest words. 



LOVE AXD FKIENDSHEP. 



39 



Sweet is the vintage, when the showering grapes 

In Bacchanal profusion reel to earth, 
Purple and gushing ; sweet are our escapes 

From civic revelry to rural mirth ; 
Sweet to the miser are his glittering heaps; 

Sweet to the father is his first-born's birth; 
Sweet is revenge, especially to women, 
Pillage to soldiers, prize-money to seamen. 

***** 

"Us sweet to win, no matter how, one's laurels, 
By blood or ink ; 'tis sweet to put an end 

To strife ; 'tis sometimes sweet to have our quarrels, 
Particularly with a tiresome friend ; 



Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels ; 

Dear is the helpless creature we defend 
Against the world ; and dear the school-boy spot 
We ne'er forget, though there we are forgot. 

But sweeter still than this, than these, than all, 
Is first and passionate love— it stands alone, 

Like Adam's recollection of his fall ; 
The tree of knowledge has been plucked — all's 
known — 

And life yields nothing further to recall 
Worthy of this ambrosial sin, so shown, 

No doubt in fable, as the unforgiven 

Fire which Prometheus filched for us from heaven. 

Lord Byron. 



NO TIME LIKE THE OLD TIME. 



IpfHERE is no time like the old time, when you 
gjS§b and I were young, 

''ff^When the buds of April blossomed, and the birds 
Jl of springtime sung ! 

* The garden's brightest glories by summer suns 
are nursed, 
But, oh, the sweet, sweet violets, the llowers that 
opened first! 
There is no place like the old place where you and I 

were born ! 
Where we lifted first our eyelids on the splendors of 

the morn, 
From the milk-white breast that warmed us, from the 

clinging arms that bore, 
Where the dear eyes glistened o'er us that will look 
on us no more ! 

There is no friend like the old friend who has shared 

our morning days, 
No greeting like his welcome, no homage like his 

praise ; 



Fame is the scentless sunflower, with gaudy crown of 

gold, 
But friendship is the breathing rose, with sweets in 

every fold. 

There is no love like the old love that we courted in 

our pride ; 
Though our leaves are falling, falling, and we're 

fading side by side. 
There are blossoms all around us with the colors of 

our dawn, 
And we live in borrowed sunshine when the light of 

day is gone. 

There are no times like the old times— they shall never 

be forgot ! 
There is no place like the old place — keep green the 

dear old spot ! 
There are no friends like our old friends— may Heaven 

prolong their lives ! 
There are no loves like our old loves — God bless our 

loving wives ! 



MART MORISON. 



fMAEY, at thy window be I 
It is the wished, the trysted hour! 
pj^Those smiles and glances let me see 
**fp That make the miser's treasure poor; 
J^ How blithely wad I bide the stoure, 
"S" A weary slave frae sun to sun, 
| Could I the rich reward secure — 
' The lovely Mary Morison. 

Yestreen when to the trembling string 
The dance gaed through the lighted ha', 

To thee my fancy took its wing— 
I sat, but neither heard nor saw ; 



Though this was fair, and that was braw, 
And yon the toast of a' the town, 

I sighed, and said amang them 'a, 
"Ye are na Mary Morison." 

O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace 

Wha for thy sake wad gladly dee? 
Or canst thou break that heart of his, 

Whase only faut is loving thee? 
If love for love thou wilt na gie, 

At least be pity to me shown ; 
A thought ungentle canna be 

The thought o' Mary Morison. 

Robert Burns. 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



EARLY LOVE. 



I remember well (and how can I 
But evermore remember well?) when first 
Our flame began, when scarce we knew what 
was 

The flame we felt; when as we sat and sighed, 
And looked upon each other, and conceived 
Not what we ailed, yet something we did ail, 
And yet were well, and yet we were not well, 
And what was our disease we could not tell, 



Then would we kiss, then sigh, then look; and thus, 
In that first garden of our simpleness, 
We spent our childhood. But when years began 
To reap the fruit of knowledge — ah, how then 
Would she with sterner looks, with graver brow, 
Check my presumption, and my forwardness! 
Yet still would give me flowers, still would show 
What she would have me, yet not have me know. 

Samuel Daniel. 




CHERRY-RIPE. 



||||HERE i s a garden in her face, 
gSI[ Where roses and white lilies blow ; 
*ffvA heavenly paradise is that place, 
J»l Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow ; 
* There cherries grow that none may buy, 
t Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry. 

Those cherries fairly do inclose 

Of orient pearl a double row, 
Which Avhen her lovely laughter shows, 

They look like rosebuds fill'd with snow, 



Yet them no peer nor prince may buy, 
Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry. 

Her eyes like angels watch them still; 

Her brows like bended bows do stand, 
Threat'ning with piercing frowns to kill 

All that approach with eye or hand 
These sacred cherries to come nigh, 
Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry. 



Richard Alison. 



HOW DO I LOVE THEE. 



|OW do I love thee? Let me count the ways : 
I love thee to the depth and breadth and 

height 
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight 
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. 
I love thee to the level of each day's 
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight. 
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; 



I love thee purely, as they turn from i 

I love thee with the passion put to use 

In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. 

I love thee with a love I seem to lose 

With my lost saints,— I love thee with the breath, 

Smiles, tears, of all my life!— and, if God choose, 

I shall but love thee better after death. 

Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 



LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 



41 



WINIFREDA. 



r AY ! let naught to love displeasing, 
My Winifreda, move your care ; 
Let naught delay the heavenly blessing, 
Nor squeamish pride, nor gloomy fear. 

What though no grants of royal donors 
With pompous titles grace our blood, 

We '11 shine in more substantial honors, 
And, to be noble, we '11 be good. 

Our name, while virtue thus we tender 
Will sweetly sound where 'er 'tis spoke ; 

And all the great ones, they shall wonder 
How they respect such little folk. 

What though, from fortune's lavish bounty, 
No mighty treasures we possess ; 

We '11 find, within our pittance, plenty, " 
And be content without excess. 



Still shall each kind returning 

Sufficient for our wishes give ; 
For we will live a life of reason, 

And that 's the only life to live. 

Through youth and age, in love excelling, 
We '11 hand in hand together tread; 

Sweet-smiling peace shall crown our dwelling, 
And babes, sweet-smiling babes, our bed. 

How should I love the pretty creatures, 
While round my knees they fondly clung! 

To see them look their mother's features, 
To hear them lisp their mother's tongue ! 

And when with envy time transported 

Shall think to rob us of our joys, 
You '11 in your girls again be courted, 

And I '11 go wooing in my boys. 



oj^s^e*^ 



HER LIKENESS. 



GIRL, who has so many wilful ways 
She would have caused Job's patience to for- 
sake him ; 
Yet is so rich in all that 's girlhood's praise, 
Did Job himself upon her goodness gaze, 
A little better she would surely make him. 

Yet is this girl I sing in naught uncommon, 
And very far from angel yet, I trow. 



Her faults, her sweetnesses, are purely human ; 
Yet she 's more lovable as simple woman 
Than any one diviner that I know. 

Therefore I wish that she may safely keep 

This womanhede, and change not, only grow; 
From maid to matron, youth to age, may creep, 
And in perennial blessedness, still reap 
On every hand of that which she doth sow. 

Dinah Maria Mulock Craik. 



AE FOND KISS BEFORE WE PART. 



fond kiss, and then we sever; 

Ae fareweel, alas, forever! 

Deep in heart- wrung tears I'll pledge thee ; 

Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee. 

Who shall say that fortune grieves him, 
While the star of hope she leaves him? 
Me, nae cheeyfu' twinkle lights me; 
Dark despair around benights me. 

I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy — 
Naething could resist my Nancy; 
But to see her was to love her, 
Love but her, and love forever, 



Had we never loved sae kindly, 
Had we never loved sae blindly, 
Never met — or never parted, 
We had ne'er been broken-hearted. 

Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest! 
Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest! 
Thine be ilka joy and treasure, 
Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure! 
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever; 
Ae fareweel, alas forever ! 
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, 
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee ! 

Robert Burns. 



Let still the woman take 
An elder than herself : so wears she to him, 
So sways she level in her husband's heart, 
For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, 
Our fancies arc more giddy and unfirm, 



More longing, wavering, sooner lost and won, 
Than women's are. 

Then let thy love be younger than thyself, 
Or thy affection cannot hold the bent. 



42 



THE KOYAL GALLERY. 

MY TRUE-LOVE HATH MY HEART. 



1 1 Y true-love hath my heart, and I have his, 
; By just exchange one to the other given; 
s I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss, 
There never was a better bargain driven ; 
My true-love hath my heart, and I have his. 



His heart in me keeps him and me in one; 

My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides; 
He loves my heart, for once it was his own ; 

I cherish his because in me it bides ; 
My true-love hath my heart, and I have his. 

Sir Philip Sidney. 



>>~3#o~;o 



LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY. 



;HE fountains mingle with the river, 

And tbe rivers with the ocean ; 
The winds of heaven mix forever 

With a sweet emotion ; 
Nothing in the world is single ; 

All things by a law divine 
In one another's being mingle ; 

Why not I with thine. 



See the mountains kiss high heaven, 

And the waves clasp one another; 
No sister flower would be forgiven 

If it disdained its brother. 
And the sunlight clasps the earth, 

And the moonbeams kiss the sea ; 
What are all these kissings worth, 

It thou kiss not me? 

Percy Bysshe Shellet. 




GOOD BYE. 



gWEETHEART, good bye ! That flut'ring sail 
'i Is spread to waft me far from thee ; 
And soon, before the farth'ring gale, 
My ship shall bound upon the sea. 
Perchance, all des'late and forlorn, 

These eyes shall miss thee many a year ; 
But unforgotten every charm — 
Though lost to sight, to memory dear. 



Sweetheart, good bye ! one last embrace I 

Oh, cruel fate, two souls to sever! 
Yet in this heart's most sacred place 

Thou, thou alone, shalt dwell forever; 
And still shall recollection trace, 

In fancy's mirror, ever near, 
Each smile, each tear, that form, that face — 

Though lost to sight, to memory dear. 

Thomas Moore. 



LOVE AND FKIENDSHIP. 



43 



HOW MANY TIMES. 



lOW many times do I love thee, dear? 
Tell me how many thoughts there be 
In the atmosphere 
Of a new-fallen year, 
Whose white and sable hours appear 

The latest flake of Eternity : 
So many times do I love thee, dear. 



How many times do I love, again? 
Tell me how many beads there are 
In a silver chain 
Of the evening rain, 
Unraveled from the tumbling main, 

And threading the eye of a yellow star : 
So many times do I love, again. 

Thomas Lovell Beddoes. 



ABSENCE. 



&HEN I think on the happy days 
? I spent wi' you, my dearie ; 
« And now what lands between us lie, 
How can I be but eerie ! 



How slow ye move, ye heavy hours, 

As ye were wae and weary ! 
It was na sae ye glinted by 

When I was wi' my dearie. 

Eobert Burns. 



COMING THROUGH THE RYE. 



lOMTNG through the rye, poor body, 

Coming through the rye, 
She draiglet a' her petticoatie, 

Coming through the rye. 
Jenny 's a' wat, poor body, 

Jenny's seldom dry ; 
She draiglet a' her petticoatie, 

Coming through the rye. 
Gin a body meet a body 

Coming through the rye ; 



Gin a body kiss a body — 

Need a body cry? 
Gin a body meet a body 

Coming through the glen, 
Gin a body kiss a body — 

Need the world ken? 
Jenny 's a' wat, poor body; 

Jenny's seldom dry; 
She draiglet a' her petticoatie, 

Coming through the rye. 

Eobeet Burns. 



COMIN' THROUGH THE RYE. 



§N a body meet a body 
Comin' through the rye, 
Gin a body kiss a bod}-, 
•7' Need a body cry? 

Every lassie has her laddie — 

Ne'er a ane hae I; 
Yet a' the lads they smile at me 
When comin' through the rye. 

Amang the train there is a swain 
I dearly lo'e mysel"; 



But whaur his hame, or what his name, 
I dinna care to tell. 

Gin a body meet a body 

Comin' frae the town, 
Gin a body greet a body, 

Need a body frown? 
Every lassie has her laddie — 

Ne'er a ane hae I; 
Yet a' the lads they smile at me 

When comin' through the rye. 

Adapted from Burns. 



HARK! HARK! THE LARK AT HEAVEN'S GATE SINGS. 



|||I|ARK! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings, 
lilll And Phoebus 'gins arise, 

¥His steeds to water at those springs 
On chaliced flowers that lies; 



And winking Mary -buds begin 

To ope their golden eyes ; 
With everything that pretty bin, 

My lady sweet, arise. 

William Shakespeare. 



44 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



O FAIREST OF THE RURAL MAIDS. 



FAIREST of the rural maids! 
Thy birth was in the forest shades ; 
Green boughs, and glimpses of the sky, 
Were all that met thine infant eye. 

Thy sports, thy wanderings, when a child, 
"Were ever in the sylvan wild, 
And all the beauty of the place 
Is in thy heart and on thy face. 

The twilight of the trees and rocks 
Is in the light shade of thy locks ; 



Thy step is as the wind, that weaves 
Its playful way among the leaves. 

Thine eyes are springs, in whose serene 
And silent waters heaven is seen ; 
Their lashes are the herbs that look 
On their young figures in the brook. 
The forest depths, by foot repressed, 
Are not more sinless than thy breast ; 
The holy peace, that Alls the air 
Of those calm solitudes, is there. 

William Cullen Bryant. 




'•Green boughs, and glimpses of the i 
Were all that met thine infant eye." 



ROCK ME TO SLEEP. 



fACKWARD, turn backward, Time, in 
Make me a child again, just for to-night; 
Mother, comeback from the echoless shore, 
Take me again to your heart as of yore 5 
Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care, 
Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair, 
Over my slumbers your loving watch keep — 
Rock me to sleep, mother — rock me to sleep. 



Backward, flow backward, O tide of the years! 
I am so weary of toil and of tears, — 
Toil without recompense, tears all in vain, — 
Take them and give me my childhood again! 
I have grown weary of dust and decay, — 
Weary of flinging my soul- wealth away ; 
Weary of sowing for others to reap ; — 
Rock me to sleep, mother, — rock me to sleep! 



LOVE AND FKIEXDSHLP. 



Tired of the hollow, the hase, the untrue, 
Mother, O mother, my heart calls for you ! 
Many a summer the grass has grown green, 
Blossomed, and faded our faces between, 
Yet with strong yearning and passionate pain 
Long I to-night for your presence again. 
Come from the silence so long and so deep ; — 
Kock me to sleep, mother, — rock ine to sleep! 

Over my heart, in the days that arc flown, 
No love like mother-love ever has shone ; 
No other worship abides and endures, — 
Faithful, unselfish, and patient, like yours : 
None like a mother can charm away pain 
From the sick soul and the world-weary brain. 
Slumber's soft calms o'er my heavy lids creep; 
Kock me to sleep, mother, — rock me to sleep! 



Come, let your brown hair, just lighted with gold, 
Fall on your shoulders again as of old ; 
Let it drop over my forehead to-night, 
Shading my faint eyes away from the light; 
For with its sunny-edged shadows once more 
Haply will throng the sweet visions of yore ; 
Lovingly, softly, its bright billows sweep ; — 
Eock me to sleep, mother, — -rock me to sleep! 

Mother, dear mother, the years have been long 
Since I last listened your lullaby song: 
Sing, then, and unto my soul it shall seem 
"Womanhood's years have been only a dream. 
Clasped to your heart in a loving embrace, 
With your light lashes just sweeping your face, 
Never hereafter to wake or to weep ; — 
Eock me to sleep, mother, — rock me to sleep! 

Elizabeth Akeks Allen (Florence Percy). 



PACK CLOUDS AWAY. 



ACK clouds away, and welcome day, 

With night we banish sorrow : 
Sweet air, blow soft, mount, lark, aloft, 
To give my love t good-morrow. 
Wings from the wind to please her mind, 

Notes from the lark I'll borrow ; 
Bird, prune thy wing! nightingale, sing! 
To give my love good-morrow. 
' To give my love good-morrow, 
Notes from them all 1*11 borrow. 



"Wake from thy nest, robin-redbreast! 

Sing, birds, in every furrow; 
And from each bill let music shrill 
Give my fair love good-morrow ! 
Blackbird and thrush, in every bush, 

Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow, 

You pretty elves, among yourselves, 

Sing my fair love good-morrow. 

To give my love good-morrow, 

Sing, birds, in every furrow. 

Thomas Heywood. 



LINGER NOT LONG-. 



TGEE not long! Home is not home without How 

thee; 
Its dearest tokens only make me mourn ; 
Oh ! let its memory, like a chain about thee, 
Gently compel and hasten thy return. 

Linger not long ! 



Linger not long! though crowds should woo thy 
staying, 
Bethink thee, can the mirth of friends, though dear, 
Compensate for the grief thy long delaying 
Costs the sad heart that sighs to have thee here? 

Linger not long ! 

Linger not long ! IaOw shall I watch thy coming, 
As evening shadows stretch o'er moor and dell — 

"When the wild bee hath ceased her busy humming, 
And silence hangs on all things like a spell? 

Linger not long ! 



shall I watch for thee when fears grow 
stronger, 
As night draws dark and darker on the hil ! 5 
How shall I weep, when I can watch no longer? 
Oh! thou art absent — art thou absent still? 

Linger not long! 



Yet though I dream not, though the eye that seeth 
thee 
Gazeth through tears that make its splendor dull, 
For oh! I sometimes fear, when thou art with me, 
My cup of happiness is all too full ! 

Linger not long! 

Haste — haste thee home unto thy mountain dwelling; 

Haste as a bird unto its peaceful nest ! 
Haste as a skiff, when tempests wild are swelling, 

Flies to its haven of securest rest! — 

Linger not long. 



46 



THE ROYAL GALLEKY. 



■ ■■!"■ 



SONG. 



Wjljjm PLACE in thy memory, dearest, 
y*ttK Is all that I claim, 

yMjjjg? To pause <nnd look back when thou hearest 
"J* The sound of my name. 
| Another may moo thee nearer, 
| Another may win and wear; 

I care not, though he be dearer, 
If I am remembered there. 
Coidd I be thy true lover, dearest, 

Couldst thou smile on me, 
I would be the fondest and nearest 
That ever loved thee. 



But a cloud o'er my pathway is glooming, 
Which never must break upon thine. 

And Heaven, which made thee all blooming, 
Ne'er made thee to wither on mine. 

Remember me not as a lover 

Whose fond hopes are crossed, 
Whose bosom can never recover 

The light it has lost : — 
As the young bride remembers the mother 

She loves, yet never may see, 
As a sister remembers a brother, 

Oh, dearest, remember me. 

Gerald Griffin. 



LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM. 



if\ t < THE da y s are gone when beauty bright 
sn/,- My heart's chain wove ! 
V^T When my dream of life, from morn till 
<f| night, 

* Was love, still love ! 

New hope may bloom, 
And days may come, 
Of milder, calmer beam, 
But there 's nothing half so sweet in life 

As love's young dream! 
O, there 's nothing half so sweet in life 
As love's young dream! 

Though the bard to purer fame may soar, 

When wild youth 's past ; 
Though he win the wise, who frowned before, 
To smile at last; 

He '11 never meet 
A joy so sweet 



In all his noon of fame, 
As when first he sung to woman's car 

His soul-felt flame, 
And at every close she blushed to hear 

The one loved name ! 

O. that hallowed form is ne'er forgot, 

Which first love traced ; 
Still it lingering haunts the greenest spot 
On memory's waste ! 
'T was odor fled 
As soon as shed ; 
'T was morning's wingdd dream ; 
'Twas a light that ne'er can shine again 

On life's dull stream! 
O, 'twas a light that ne'er can shine again 
On life's dull stream! 

Thomas Moore. 



s^oO^SX-Jo 



LOVE IS 

. ^ . 

^jffjpfOVE is enough. Let us not seek for gold. 

f$lp| Wealth breeds false aims, and pride and 

"*§ \f? selfishness ; 

ill In those serene, Arcadian days of old, 
Men gave no thought to princely homes and dress. 

The gods who dwelt in fair Olympia's height, 

Lived only for dear love and love's delight; 
Love is enough. 

Love is enough. Why should we care for fame? 

Ambition is a most unpleasant guest : 
It lures us Avith the glory of a name 

Far from the happy haunts of peace and rest. 
Let us stay here in this secluded place, 
Made beautiful by love's endearing grace ; 
Love is enough. 



ENOUGH. 

Love is enough. Why should we strive for power? 

It brings men only envy and distrust; 
The poor world's homage pleases but an hour, 

And earthly honors vanish in the dust. 
The grandest lives are ofttimes desolate; 
Let me be loved, and let who will be great; 
Love is enough. 
Love is enough. Why should we ask for more? 

What greater gift have gods vouchsafed to men? 
What better boon of all their precious store 

Thau our fond hearts that love and love again? 
Old love may die; new love is just as sweet; 
And life is fair, and all the world complete ; 
Love is enough. 

Ella Wheelee. 



LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 



47 



IF THOU WERT BY MY SIDE. 



■IF thou wert by my side, my love ! 
H How fast would evening fail 
§p In green Bengala's palmy grove, 
Listening the nightingale! 

If thou, my love! wert by my side, 

My babies at my knee, 
How gayly would our pinnace glide 
O'er Gunga's mimic sea ! 



But miss thy kind approving eye, 
Thy meek, attentive ear. 

But when of morn and eve the star 

Beholds me on my knee, 
I feel, though thou art distant far, 

Thy prayers ascend for me. 

Then on! then on! where duty leads, 
My course be onward still, 




I miss thee at the dawning gray 
When, on our deck reclined, 

In careless ease my limbs I lay, 
And woo the cooler wind. 

I miss thee when by Gunga's stream 

My twilight steps I guide. 
But most beneath the lamp's pale beam, 

I miss thee from my side. 

I spread my books, my pencil try. 
The lingering noon to cheer, 



O'er broad Hindostan's sultry meads, 
O'er black Almorah's hill. 

That course, nor Delhi's kingly gates, 

Nor wild Malwah detain, 
For sweet the bliss us both awaits, 

By yonder western main. 

Thy towers, Bombay, gleam bright, they say, 

Across the dark blue sea; 
But ne'er were hearts so light and gay, 

As then shall meet in thee ! 

Reginald Hebek. 



PAIN OF LOVE. 



afH|0 live in neu ' an d heaven to behold, 
«~||j To welcome life, and die a living death, 
z^f To sweat with heat, and yet be freezing cold, 
ll To grasp at stars, and lie the earth beneath, 
To tread a maze that never shall have end, 
To burn in sighs, and starve in daily tears, 
To climb a hill, and never to descend, 



Giants to kill, and quake at childish fears, 

To pine for food, and watch th' Hesperian tree, 

To thirst for drink, and nectar still to draw, 

To live accurs'd, whom men hold blest to be, 

And weep those wrongs which never creature saw , 

If this be love, if love in these be founded, 

My heart is love, for these in it are groimded. 

Henry Constable. 



48 



THE ROYAL GALLERY, 



BONNIE MARY. 



|0 fetch to me a pint o' wine, 

And fill it in a silver tassie ; 
That I may drink before I go, 

A service to my bonnie lassie; 
The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith : 

Fu 1 loud the wind blaws f rae the f erry ; 
The ship rides by the Berwick-law, 

And I maun leave my bonnie Mary. 



The trumpets sound, the banners fly, 

The glittering spears are ranked ready; 
The shouts o' war are heard afar, 

The battle closes thick and bloody ; 
It"s not the roar o' sea or shore 

Wad make me langer wish to tarry ; 
Nor shouts o' war that's heard afar— 

It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary. 

Robert Burns. 




SWEET HAND. 



g|WEET hand that, held in mine, 
US Seems the one thing I cannot live without, 
|v The soul's one anchorage in this storm and doubt, 
I take thee as a sign 
Of sweeter days in store 
For life, and more than life, when life is done, 
And thy soft pressure leads me gently on 
To Heaven's own evermore. 

I have not much to say, 
Xor that much in words, at such fond request, 



Let my blood speak to thine, and hear the rest 
Some silent heartfelt way. 

Thrice blest the faithful hand 
Which saves e'en while it blesses; hold me fast; 
Let me not go beneath the floods at last, 

So near the better land. 

Sweet hand that, thus in mine, 
Seems the one thing I cannot live without, 
My heart's one anchor in the storm and doubt, 

Take this, and make me thine. 



Of all the agonies in life, that which is most poignant and harrowing — that which, for 
the time, annihilates reason, and leaves our whole organization one lacerated, mangled 
heart — is the conviction that we have been deceived where we placed all the trust of love. 



LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 



49 



THREE EJSSES. 



IRST time he kissed ine, he but only kissed 
The fingers of this hand wherewith I write ; 
And ever since it grew more clean and white — 
Slow to world-greetings — quick with its '-0, 

list." 
When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst 
I could not wear here, plainer to my sight 
Than that first kiss. The second passed in height 



The first, and sought the forehead, and half missed, 

Half falling on the hah-. O beyond meed ! 

That was the chrism of love, which love's own crown, 

With sanctifying sweetness did precede. 

The third upon my lips was folded down 

In perfect, purple state; since when, indeed, 

I have been proud and said, " My love, my own. 1 ' 

Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 



TO AN ABSENT WIFE. 



YlYlft MORN; the sea-breeze seems to bring 
dsp Joy, health, and freshness on its wing; 
V^ v > Bright flowers, to me all strange and new, 
|J Are glittering in the early dew ; 
^ And perfumes rise from many a grove 
^ As incense to the clouds that move 
Like spirits o'er yon welkin clear; 
But I am sad — thou art not here. 

'Tis noon; a calm unbroken sleep 
Is on the blue waves of the deep; 
A soft haze, like a fairy dream, 
Is floating over hill and stream; 
And many a broad magnolia flower 
Within its shadowy woodland bower 
Is gleaming like a lovely star; 
But I am sad — thou art afar. 

'Tis eve; on earth the sunset skies 
Are painting their own Eden dyes; 
The stars come down, and trembling glow 
Like blossoms in the waves below ; 



And, like some unseen sprite, the breeze 
Seems lingering 'trid the orange-trees, 
Breathing in music round the spot; 
But I am sad — I see thee not. 

'Tis midnight; with a, soothing spell 
The far tones of the ocean swell, 
Soft as a mother's cadence mild, 
Low bending o'er her sleeping child; 
And, on each wandering breeze are heard 
The rich notes of the mocking-bird 
In many a wild and wondrous lay ; 
But I am sad — thou art away. 

I sink in dreams, low, sweet, and clear; 
Thy own dear voice is in my ear; 
Around my cheek thy tresses twine, 
Thy own loved hand is clasped in mine, 
Thy own soft lip to mine is pressed, 
Thy head is pillowed on my breast. 
Oh ! I have all my heart holds dear ; 
And I am happy — thou art here. 

George D. Prentice. 



THE FLOWER O' DUMBLANE. 



SHE sun has gane down o'er the lofty Ben Lomond, 
And left the red clouds to preside o'er the 
scene, 
While lanely I stray in the calm summer gloamin', 
To muse on sweet Jessie, the Flower o' Dum- 
blane. 
How sweet is the brier, wi' its saft fauldin' blossom, 

And sweet is the birk, wi' its mantle o' green; 
Yet sweeter and fairer, and dear to this bosom, 
Is lovely young Jessie, the Flower o' Dumblane. 

She's modest as ony, and blithe as she's bonnie — 
For guileless simplicity marks her its ain ; 

And far be the villain, divested of feeling. 
Wha 'd blight in its bloom the sweet Flower o' 
Dumblane. 



Sing on, thou sweet mavis, thy hymn to thee'ening! — 
Thou 'rt dear to the echoes of Calderwood glen; 

Sae dear to this bosom, sae artless and winning, 
Is charming young Jessie, the Flower o' Dumblane. 

How lost were my days till I met wi' my Jessie ! 

The sports o' the city seemed foolish and vain; 
I ne'er saw a nymph I would ca' my dear lassie 

Till charmed wi' sweet Jessie, the Flower o* Dum- 
blane. • 

Though mine were the station o' loftiest grandeur, 
Amidst its profusion I 'd languish in pain, 

And recken as naething the height o' its splendor, 
If wanting sweet Jessie, the Flower o' Dumblane. 
Robert Tannaiiill. 



THE EOYAL GALLERY. 



COME INTO THE GARDEN, MAUD. 



§OME into the garden, Maud, 

For the black hat, night, has flown ! 
Come into the garden, Maud, 
I am here at the gate alone ; 
And the woodbiuo spices are wafted abroad, 
And the musk of the roses blown. 

For a breeze of morning moves, 

And the planet of Love is on high, 
Beginning to faint in the light that she loves, 

On a bed of daffodil sky,— 
To faint in the light of the sun that she loves, 

To faint in its light, and to die. 

All night have the roses heard 

The flute, violin, bassoon; 
All night has the casement jessamine stirred 

To the dancers dancing in tune,— 
Till a silence fell with the waking bird, 

And a hush with the setting moon. 

I said to the lily, " There is but one 

"With whom she has heart to be gay. 
"When will the dancers leave her alone? 

She is weaiy of dance and play." 
Now half to the setting moon arc gone, 

And half to the rising day ; 
Low on the sand and loud on the stone 

The last wheel echoes away. 

I said to the rose, " The brief night goes 

In babble and revel and wine, 
O young lord-lover, what sighs are those 

For one that will never be thine ! 
But mine, but mine," so I sware to the rose 

" For ever and ever mine ! " 
And the soul of the rose went into my blood, 

As the music clashed in the hall; 
And long by the garden lake I stood, 

For I heard your rivulet fall 
From the lake to the meadow, and on to the wood, 

Our wood, that is dearer than all; 



From the meadow r your walks have left so sweet 
That whenever a March-wind sighs, 

He sets the jewel-print of your feet 
In violets blue as your eyes, 

To the woody hollows in which we meet 
And the valleys of Paradise. 

The slender acacia would not shake 

One long milk-bloom on the tree; 
The white lake-blossom fell into the lake, 

As the pimpernel dozed on the lea; 
But the rose was awake all night for your sake, 

Knowing your promise to me; 
The lilies and roses were all awake, 

They sighed for the dawn and thee. 

Queen rose of the rose-bud garden of girls, 
Come hither! the dances arc done; 

In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls, 
Queen lily and rose in one; 

Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls, 
To the flowers, and be their sun. 

There has fallen a splendid tear 

From the passion-flower at the gate. 
She is coming, my dove, my dear; 

She is coming, my life, my fate! 
The red rose cries, " She is near, she is near; '* 

And the white rose weeps, " She is late; " 
The larkspur listens, " I hear, I hear; " 

And the lily whispers, " I wait." 

She is coming, my own, my sweet! 

"Were it ever so airy a tread, 
My heart would hear her and beat, 

Were it earth in an earthly bed ; 
My dust would hear her and beat, 

Had I lain for a century dead; 
Would start and tremble under her feet, 

And blossom in purple and red. 

Alfred Tennysok* 



TO ALTHEA, FROM PRISON. 



«HE]Sr love with unconfln6d wings 

Hovers Avithin my gates, 
And my divine Althea brings 

To whisper at my grates; 
When I lie tangled in her hair, 

And fettered with her eye, 
The birds that wanton in the air 

Know no such liberty. 



When flowing cups run swiftly round, 

With no allaying Thames, 
Our careless heads with roses crowned, 

Our hearts with loyal flames ; 
When thirsty grief in wine we steep, 

When healths and draughts go free, 
Fishes that tipple in the deep 

Know no such liberty. 



LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 



51 



When, linnet-like confined, I. 

With shriller note shall sing 
The mercy, sweetness, majesty. 

And glories of my king; 



"tone walls do not a prison make, 

Nor iron bars a cage; 
Minds innocent and quiet take 

That for an hermitage; 




When I shall voice aloud how good 

He is, how great should he. 
The enlarged winds, that curl the flood. 

Know no such liberty. 



If I have freedom in my love, 

And in my soul am free, 
Angels alone that soar above 

Enjoy such liberty. 

Richard Lovelace. 



There has nearly always been a good wife behind every great man, and there is a good 
[ of truth in the saying that a man can be no greater than his wife will let him. 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



A WOMAN'S QUESTION. 



pplEFORE I trust my fate to thee, 
<£p§? Or place ray hand in thine, 
^ s Before I let thy future give 
Color and form -to mine, 
Before I peril all for thee, question thy soul to-night 
for me. 

I break all slighter bonds, nor feel 

A shadow of regret : 
Is there one link within the Past 
That holds thy spirit yet? 
Or is thy faith as clear and free as that which I can 
pledge to thee? 

Does there within my dimmest dreams 

A possible future shine, 
Wherein thy life could henceforth breathe, 

Untouched, unshared by mine? 
If so, at any pain or cost, O, tell me before all is lost. 



Is there within thy heart a need 

That mine cannot fulfill? 
One chord that any other hand 
Could better wake or still? 
Speak uow — lest at some future day my whole life 
wither and decay. 

Lives there within thy nature hid 

The demon-spirit change, 
Shedding a passing glory still 
On all things new and strange? 
It may not be thy fault alone — but shield my heart 
against thy own. 

Couldst thou withdraw- thy hand one day 

And answer to my claim, 
That Fate, and that to-day's mistake — 
Not thou — had been to blame? 
Some soothe their conscience thus ; but thou wilt surely 
warn and save nic now. 



Look deeper still. If thou canst feel. 

Within thy inmost soul, 
That thou has kept a portion back, 
While I have staked the whole. 
Let no false pity spare the blow, but in true mercy 
tell me so. 



Nay, answer not — I dare not hear, 
The words would come too late ; 
Yet I would spare thee all remorse, 
So, comfort thee, my Fate, — 
Whatever on my heart may fall — remember, I would 
risk it all ! 

Adelaide Anne Procter. 



DOBIS. 



•sfe. 



SAT with Doris, the shepherd maiden : 
Her crook was laden with breathed flowers; 

I sat and wooed her through sunlight wheeling. 
And shadows stearins;, for hours and hours. 



And she. my Doris, whose lap encloses 

Wild summer roses of rare perfume, 
The while [ sued her, kept hushed and hearkened 

Till shades had darkened from gloss to gloom. 
She touched my shoulder with fearful finger: 

She said, "We linger; we must not stay; 
My Hock's in danger, my sheep will wander: 

Behold them yonder — how far they stray! " 

I answered bolder, "Nay, let me hear you, 
And still be near you, and still adore; 

No wolf nor stranger will touch one yearling; 
Ah! stay, my darling, a moment more." 

She whispered, sighing: "There will be sorrow 
Beyond to-morrow , if I lose to-day; 

My fold unguarded, my flock unfolded, 
I shall be scolded, and sent away." 

Said I, replying: "If they do miss you, 
They ought to kiss you, when you get home ; 

And well rewarded by friend and neighbor 
Should be the labor from which you come." 



"They might remember." she answered meekly, 
"That lambs are weakly, and sheep are wild; 

But if they love me 'tis none so fervent; 
I am a servant, and not a child." 

Then each hot ember glowed quick within me, 
And love did win me to swift reply : 

" Ah ! do but prove me, and none shall bind you 
Nor fray nor find you, until I die." 

She blushed and started, and stood awaiting, 

As if debating in dreams divine; 
But I did brave them — I told her plainly 

She doubted vainly; she must be mine. 

So we, twin-hearted, from all the valley 
Did rouse and rally the nibbling ewes, 

Ami homeward drove them, we two together, 
Through blooming heather and gleaming dews. 

That simple duty fresh grace did lend her — 

My Doris tender, my Doris true: 
That I. her warder, did always bless her, 

And often press her, to take her due. 

And now in beauty she fills my dwelling 

With love excelling and undefiled; 
Anil love doth guard her, both fast and fervent, 

No more a servant, nor yet a child. 

Arthur J. Muxbt. 



LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 



53 



SAD ARE THEY WHO KNOW NOT LOVE. 



SAD are they who know not love. 

But, far from passion's tears and smiles, 
Drift down a moonless sea, and pass 

The silver coasts of fairy isles. 

And sadder they whose longing lips 
Kiss empty ah, and never touch 



The dear warm mouth of those they love 
Waiting, wasting, suffering much! 

But clear as amber, sweet as musk, 
Is life to those whose lives unite ; 

They walk in Allah's smile by day, 
And nestle in his heart by night. 

Thomas Bailey Aldrich. 



O SWALLOW, FLYING SOUTH. 



1||| SWALLOW, Swallow, flying, flying South, 

SUP Fly to her, and fall upon her gilded caves, 

/ ffi* And tell her. tell her what I tell to thee. 

U 

tell her, Swallow, thou that knowest each, 

That bright and fierce and fickle is the South, 

And dark and true and tender is the North. 

Swallow, Swallow, if I could follow, and light 
Upon her lattice, I would pipe and trill, 
And cheep and twitter twenty million loves. 

O were I thou, tbat she might take me in, 
And lay me on her bosom, and her heart 
Would rock the snowv cradle till I died. 



Why lingereth she to clothe her heart with love, 
Delaying as the tender ash delays 
To clothe herself, when all the woods are green? 

O tell her, Swallow, that thy brood is flown; 
Say to her, I do but wanton in the South, 
But in the North long since my nest is made. 

O tell her, brief is life, but love is long, 
And brief the sun of summer in the North, 
And brief the moon of beauty in the South. 

O Swallow, flying from the golden woods, 
Fly to her, and pipe and woo her. and make her mine, 
And tell her, tell her. that I follow thee. 

Alfred Tennyson. 



SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT. 



SHE was a phantom of delight 

When first she gleamed upon my sight; 
A lovely apparition, sent 
To be a moment's ornament; 
Her eyes as stars of twilight fair; 
Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair; 
But all things else about her drawn 
From May-time and the cheerful dawn; 
A dancing shape, an image gay, 
To haunt, to startle, and w r aylay. 

I saw her upon nearer view, 

A spirit, yet a woman too ! 

Her household motions light and free, 

And steps of virgin liberty ; 

A countenance in which did meet 

Sweet records, promises as sweet; 



A creature not too bright or good 

For human nature's daily food; 

For transient sorrows, simple wiles, 

Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. 

And now I see with eyes serene 
The very pulse of the machine ; 
A being breathing thoughtful breath, 
A trav'ler between life and death; 
The reason firm, the temperate will, 
Endurance, foresight, strength and skill; 
A perfect woman, nobly planned, 
To warn, to comfort, and command ; 
And yet a spirit still, and bright 
With something of angelic light. 

William Wordsworth. 



MARGARET. 



igOTHEB, I cannot mind my wheel; 
!| My fingers ache, my lips are dry; 
Soh, if you felt the pain I feel! — 
" But oh, who ever felt as I? 



JSb longer coidd I doubt him true ; 

All other men may use deceit; 
He always said my eyes were blue, 

And often swore my lips were sweet. 

Walter Savage Landor. 



5-4 



THE ROYAL GALLEEY. 



THE MILKING MAID. 



||HE year stood at its equinox, 
jp And bluff the north was blowing, 
k A bleat of lambs came from the flocks. 
Green hardy things were growing ; 
I met a maid with shining locks 
Where milky kine were lowing. 

She wore a kerchief on her neck, 
Her bare arm showed its dimple, 



Pathetically rustical, 
Too pointless for the city. 

She kept in time without a beat, 
As true as church-bell ringers, 

Unless she tapped time with her feet. 
Or squeezed it with her fingers , 

Her clear, unstudied notes were sweet 
As many a practiced singer's. 




'She wore a kerchief on her neck. 
Her bare arm showed its dimple." 



Her apron spread without a speck, 
Her air was frank and simple. 

She milked into a wooden pail, 
And sang a country ditty— 

An innocent fond lover's tale, 
That was not wise nor witty, 



I stood a minute out of sight, 
Stood silent for a minute. 

To eye the pail, and creamy white 
The frothing milk within it — 

To eye the comely milking maid, 
Herself so fresh and cream v. 



LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 



r,r> 



"Good day to you! " at last I said; 

She turned her head to see me. 
"Good day! " she said, -with lifted head; 

Her eyes looked soft and dreamy. 

And all the while she milked and milked 

The grave cow heavy-laden : 
I've seen grand ladies, plumed and silked, 

But not a sweeter maiden. 

But not a sweeter, fresher maid 

Than this in homely cotton, 
Whose pleasant face and silky hraid 

I have not yet forgotten. 

Seven springs have passed since then, as I 

Count with a sober sorrow ; 
Seven springs have come and passed me by, 

And spring sets in to-morrow. 

I've half a mind to shake myself 
Free, just for once, from London, 

To set my work upon the shelf, 
And leave it done or undone ; 



To run down by the early train, 
Whirl down with shriek and whistle, 

And feel the bluff north blow again, 
And mark the sprouting thistle 

Set up on waste patch of the lane 
Its green and tender bristle ; 

And spy the scarce-blown violet banks, 
Crisp primrose-leaves and others. 

And watch the lambs leap at their pranks, 
And butt their patient mothers. 

Alas! one point in all my plan 
My serious thoughts demur to : 

Seven years have passed for maid and man, 
Seven years have passed for her too. 

Perhaps my rose is over-blown, 

Not rosy, or too rosy ; 
Perhaps in farm-house of her own 

Some husband keeps her cosy, 
Where I should show a face unknown,— 

Good-bye, my wayside posy ! 

Christina Georgina Rossetti. 



UNDER THE BLUE. 



skies are low, the winds are slow ; 
The woods are bathed in summer glory; 
le mists are still, o'er field and hill; 
The brooklet sings its dreamy story. 

I careless rove through glen and grove; 

I dream by hill and copse and river; 
Or in the shade by aspen made 

I watch the restless shadows quiver. 

I lift my eyes to azure skies 

That shed their tinted glory o'er me ; 
While memories sweet around me fleet, 

As radiant as the scene before me. 



And while I muse upon the hues 
Of summer skies in splendor given, 

Sweet thoughts arise of rare deep eyes. 
Whose blue is like the blue of heaven. 

Bend low, fair skies! Smile sweet, fair eyes! 

From radiant skies rich hues are streaming; 
But in the blue of pure eyes true 

The radiance of my life is beaming. 

O skies of blue! ye fade from view; 

Faint grow the hues that o"er me quiver; — 
But the sure light of dear eyes bright 

Shines on forever and forever ! 

Francis F. Browne. 



KISS ME SOFTLY 



|ISS me softly and speak to me low, — 
| Malice has ever a vigilant ear; 
f What if Malice were lurking near? 
Kiss me, dear! 
Kiss me softly and speak to me low. 

Kiss me softly and speak to me low, • 
Envy, too, has a watchful ear; 



What if Envy should chance to hear? 
Kiss me. dear! 
Kiss me softly and speak to me low. 

Kiss me softly and speak to me low ; 
Trust me, darling, the time is near 
When lovers may love with never a fear; — 
Kiss me, dear! 
Kiss me softly and speak to me low. 

John Godfrey Saxe. 



56 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



PEARLS. 



|l»OT what the chemists say the}' he, 
piPI Are pearls — they never grew ; 
*§p They come not from the hollow sea, 
•R, They come from heaven in dew ! 

Down in the Indian sea it slips, 
Through green and hriny whirls, 



Where great shells catch it in their lips, 
And kiss it into pearls ! 

If dew can he so heauteous made, 

Oh, why not tears, my girl? 
Why not your tears? Be not afraid — 

I do but kiss a pearl ! 

Richard Henry Stoddabi>. 



A BIRD AT SUNSET. 



?ILD bird, that wingest wide the glimmering 
moors, 

Whither, by belts of yellowing woods, away? 
"What pausing sunset thy wild heart allures 

Deep into dying day? 

Would that my heart, on wings like thine, could pass 
Where stars their light in rosy regions lose — 

A happy shadow o'er the warm brown grass, 
Falling with falling dews! 

Hast thou, like me, some true-love of thiu3 own, 

In fairy lands beyond the utmost seas; 
Who there, unsolaced, yearns for thee alone, 

And sings to silent trees? 



Oh, tell that woodbird that the summer grieves 
And the suns darken and the days grow cold ; 

And, tell her, love will fade with fading leaves, 
And cease in common mould. 

Fly from the winter of the world to her! 

Fly, happy bird ! I follow in thy flight, 
Till thou art lost o'er yonder fringe of fir 

In baths of crimson light. 

My love is dying far away from me. 

She sits and saddens in the fading west. 
For her I mourn all day, and pine to be 

At night upon her breast. 

Robert Bulwer Lytton. 



SERENADE. 



;HE western wind is blowing fair 

Across the dark xEgean sea. 

And at the secret marble stair 

My Tyrian galley waits for thee. 
Come down ! the purple sail is spread, 

The watchman sleeps within the town; 
O leave thy lily-flowered bed, 

O Lady mine, come down, come down! 

She will not come, I know her well, 

Of lover's vows she hath no care, 
And little good a man can tell 

Of one so cruel and so fair. 
True love is but a woman's toy, 

They never know the lover's pain, 
And I who loved as loves a boy 

Must love in vain, must love in vain. 

O noble pilot, tell me true, 
Is that the sheen of golden hair? 

Or is it but the tangled dew- 
That binds the passion-flowers there? 



Good sailor, come and tell me now 

Is that my lady's lily hand? 
Or is it but the gleaming prow, 

Or is it but the silver sand? 

N"o! no! 'tis not the tangled dew, 

'Tis not the silver-fretted sand, 
It is my own dear lady true 

With golden hair and lily hand! 
O noble pilot, steer for Troy! 

Good sailor, ply the laboring oar! 
This is the Queen of life and joy 

Whom we must bear from Grecian shore I 

The waning sky grows faint and blue 

It wants an hour still of day; 
Aboard ! aboard ! my gallant crew 

O Lady mine, away! away! 
O noble pilot, steer for Troy ! 

Good sailor, ply the laboring oar! 
O loved as only loves a boy ! 

C loved forever, evermore f 

Oscar Wilde. 



LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 

BIRD OF PASSAGE. 



|S the day's last light is dying, 
| As the night's first breeze is sighing. 
r I send you, love, like a messenger-dove, 
thought through the distance flying; 



Let it perch on your sill; or. 

Let it feel your soft hand's i 

While you search and bring, from urn 

hidden away like a lotto i 

El;. 



is wing, love, 



I FEAR THY KISSES. 



FEAR thy kisses, gentle maiden : 
Thou needest not fear mine; 

My spirit is too deeply laden 
Ever to burthen thine. 



ion; 



I fear thy mien, thy tones, thy 

Thou needest not fear mine ; 
Innocent is the heart's devotion 

With which I worship thine. 

Percy Byssiik Shelley. 



—o^oCS^SX^c 

WHEN THE KTE COMES HAME. 



HOME, all ye jolly shepherds 

|P That whistle through the glen, 

*' I -11 tell ye of a secret 

W That courtiers diuna ken : 

\ What is the greatest bliss 

That the tongue o' man can name? 
'Tis to woo a bonny lassie 

When the kye comes hame ! 

When the kye comes hame, 
When the kye comes hame. 
'Tween the gloaming and the mirk, 
When the kye comes hame! 

'Tis not beneath the coronet, 

Nor canopy of state, 
'Tis not on couch of velvet, 

Nor arbor of the great, — 
'Tis beneath the spreading birk, 

In the glen without the name, 
Wi' a bonny, bonny lassie, 

When the kye comes hame ! 

There the blackbird bigs his nest 

For the mate he loes to see, 
And on the topmost bough, 

O, a happy bird is he; 
Where he pours his melting ditty, 

And love is a' the theme, 
And he '11 woo his bonny lassie 

When the kye comes hame! 

When the blewart bears a pearl, 
And the daisy turns a pea, 



And the bonny r lucken gowau 

Has fauldit up her ec, 
Then the laverock frae the blue lift 

Doops down, an' thinks nae shame 
To woo his bonny lassie 

When the kye comes hame ! 

See yonder pawkie shepherd, 

That lingers on the hill, 
His ewes are in the fauld, 

An' his lambs are lying still; 
Yet he downa gang to bed, 

For his heart is in a flame, 
To meet his bonny lassie 

When the kye comes hame ! 

When the little wee bit heart 

Rises high in the breast, 
An' the little wee bit starn 

Rises red in the east, 
O there's a joy sae dear, 

That the heart can hardly frame, 
Wi' a bonny, bonny lassie, 

When the kye comes hame ! 

Then since all nature joins 

In this love Avithout alloy, 
O, wha wad prove a traitor 

To nature's dearest joy? 
O, wha wad choose a crown, 

Wi' its perils and its fame, 
And miss his bonny lassie 

When the kye comes hame? 

James Hogg. 



May all go well with you ! May life's short day glide on peaceful and bright, with no 
more clouds than may glisten in the sunshine, no more rain than may form a rainbow ; 
and may the veiled one of heaven bring us to meet again. 



58 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



THE PATRIOT'S BRIDE. 



M1H ! give me back that royal dream 
WM? My fancy wrought, 

^§P^ "When I have seen your sunny eyes 
7fy$*- Grow moist with thought ; 

jj And fondly hoped, dear Love, your heart from 
■& mine 

J Its spell had caught ; 

"• And laid me down to dream that dream divine, 
But true, methought, 
Of how my life's long task would be, to make yours 
blessed as it ought. 

To learn to love sweet Nature more 

For your sweet sake. 
To watch with you — dear friend, with you! — 

Its wonders break ; 
The sparkling spring in that bright face to see 

Its mirror make — 
On summer morns to hear the sweet birds sing 

By linn and lake; 
And know your voice, your magic voice, could still a 
grander music wake! 

To wake the old weird world that sleeps 

In Irish lore; 
The strains sweet foreign Spenser sung 

By Mulla's shore ; 
Dear Curran's airy thoughts, like purple birds 

That shine and soar; 
Tone's fiery hopes, and all the deathless vows 

That Grattan swore ; 
The songs that once our own dear Davis snug — ah, 
me! to sins no more. 



And all those proud old victor-fields 

We thrill to name, 
Whose memories are the stars that light 

Long nights of shame ; 
The Cairn, the Dan, the Rath, the Power, the Keep, 

That still proclaim 
In chronicles of clay and stone, how true, how deep 

Was Eire's fame; 
Oh ! we shall see them all, with her, that dear, dear 
friend we two have lov'd the same. 

Yet ah ! how truer, tenderer still 

Methought did seem 
That scene of tranquil joy, that happy home 

By Dodder's stream, 
The morning smile, that grew a fix6d star 

With love-lit beam, 
The ringing laugh, locked hands, and all the far 

And shining stream 
Of daily love, that made our daily life diviner than a 
dream. 

For still to me, dear Friend, dear Love, 

Or both — dear wife, 
Your image comes with serious thoughts, 

But tender, rife ; 
No idle plaything to caress or chide 

In sport or strife. 
But my best chosen friend, companion, guide, 
To walk through life, 
Linked hand in hand, two equal, loving friends, true 
husband and true wife. 

Sik Charles Gavan Duffy. 



JANETTE'S HAIR, 



ffilffjH, loosen the snood that you wear Jauette. 
alllfs Let me tangle a hand in your hair — my pet; 
y<j$X For the world to me had no daintier sight 
jj Than your brown hair veiling your shoulder 
white ; 
Your beautiful dark brown hair — my pet. 

It was brown with a golden gloss, Janette, 
It was finer than silk of the floss — ■ my pet ; 
'Twas a beautiful mist falling down to your wrist, 
'Twas a thing to be braided, and jeweled, and kissed — 
'Twas the loveliest hair in the world — my pet. 

My arm was the arm of a clown, Janette, 
It was sinewy, bristled and brown — my pet ; 
But warmly and softly it loved to caress 
Your round white neck and your wealth of tress, 
Your beautiful plenty of hair — my pet. 

Your eyes had a swimming glory, Janette, 
Revealing the old, dear story — my pet; 



They were gray with that chastened tinge of the sky 
When the trout leaps quickest to snap the fly. 

And they matched with your golden hair — my pet. 
Your lips — but I have no words, Janette — 
They were fresh as the twitter of birds — my pet, 
When the spring is young, and roses are wet, 
With the dew-drops in each red bosom set, 

And they suited your gold-brown hair — my pet 

Oh, you tangled my life in your hair, Janette. 
'Twas a silken and golden snare — my pet; 
But, so gentle the bondage, my soul did implore 
The right to continue your slave evermore, 
With my Angers enmeshed in your hair — my pet 

Thus ever I dream what you were, Janette. 
With your lips and your eyes and your hair — ■ my pet; 
In the darkness of desolate years I moan, 
And my tears fall bitterly over the stone 
That covers your golden hair — my pet. 

Charles Graham Haxpote. 



LOVE AXD FKIEXDSIIIP. 



59 



ATOOIXG. 



f LITTLE bird once met another bird. 
And whistled to her, "Willyoube mymafc 
With fluttering wings she twittered, "lie 
absurd ! 
Oh, what a silly pate! " 

And off into a distant tree she flew, 

To find concealment in the shady cover; 
And passed the hours in slyly peeping through 
At her rejected lover. 

The jilted bard, with drooping heart and wing. 

Poured forth his grief all day in plaintive songs : 
Telling in sadness to the ear of Spring 
The storv of his wrongs. 



But little thought he, while each nook and dell 

With the wild music of his plaint was thrilling, 
That scornful breast with sighs began to swell — 
Half-pitying and half-willing. 

Xext month I walked the same sequestered way, 

When close together on a twig I spied them; 
And in a nest half-hid with leaves there lay. 
Four little birds beside them. 

Coy maid, this moral in your ear I drop : 

Allien lover'- hopes within their hearts you prison, 
Fly out of sight and hearing; do not stop 
To look behind and listen. 

John B. L. Sovle. 




Under the silver 



SWEET AND LOW. 



m 



IQkWEET and low, sweet and low, 

£§?! Wind of the western sea, 

^f Low, low, breathe and blow, 

? Wind of the western sea ! 

' Over the rolling waters go, 

Come from the dying moon and blow, 

Blow him again to me ; 
While my little one, while my pretty one sleeps. 



Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, 

Father will come to thee soon : 
Best, rest on mother's breast, 

Father will come to thee soon ; 
Father will come to his babe in the nest, 

Silver sails all out of the west, 
Under the silver moon ; 

Sleep, my little one, sleep my pretty one, sleep. 
Alfred Tennyson. 



60 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



THE BROOKSIDE. 



: WANDERED by the brookside, 

I wandered by the mill ; 
I could not hear the brook flow — 

The noisy wheel was still ; 
There was no burr of grasshopper, 

No chirp of any bird, 
But the beating of my own heart 
Was all the sound I heard. 
I sat beneath the elm-tree ; 

I watched the long, long shade 
And as it grew still longer, 

I did not feel afraid ; 
For I listened for a footfall, 

I listened for a word — 
But the beating of my own heart 
Was all the sound I heard. 



He came nor, — no, he came not — 

The night came on alone — 
The little stars sat one by one 

Each on his golden throne ; 
The evening wind passed by my chock, 

The leaves above were stirred — 
But the beating of my own heart 

Was all the sound I heard. 

Fast, silent tears were flowing, 

When something stood behind ; 
A hand was on my shoulder — 

I knew its touch was kind ; 
It drew me nearer — nearer — 

We did not speak one word, 
For the beating of our own hearts 

Was all the sound I heard. 

Richard Moncxton Milnes. 

(Lord Houghton). 



THE OLD STORY 



»Y heart is chilled, and my pulse is slow, 
But often and often will memory go, 
Like a blind child lost in a waste of snow, 
Back to the days when I loved you so — 
The beautiful long ago. 

1 sit here dreaming them through and through 
The blissful moments I shared with you— 
The sweet, sweet days when our love was new, 
When I was trustful and you were true- 
Beautiful days, but few! 

Blest or wretched, fettered or free, 
Why should I care how your life may be, 
Or whether you wander by land or sea? 
I only know you are dead to me, 
Ever and hopelessly. 

Oh, how often at day's decline 

I pushed from my window the curtaining vine, 



To see from your lattice the lamp-light shine — 
Type of a message that, half divine, 

Flashed from your heart to mine. 
Once more the starlight is silvering all ; 
The roses sleep by the garden wall ; 
The night bird warbles his madrigal, 
And I hear again through the sweet air fall 

The evening bugle call. 
But summers will vanish and years will wane, 
And bring no light to your window-pane ; 
No gracious sunshine or patient rain 
Can bring dead love back to life again : 

I call up the past in vain. 

My heart is heavy, my heart is old, 
And that proves dross which I counted gold ; 
I watch no longer your curtain"s fold ; 
The window is dark and the night is cold, 
And the story forever told. 

Elizabeth Akers xYllen. 

(Florence Percy), 



EVENING- SONG. 



!||j||OOK off, dear Love, across the sallow sands, 
||il§| And mark yon meeting of the sun and sea : 
eSBS How long they kiss in sight of all the lands — 
Ah! longer, longer we. 

Now in the sea's red vintage melts the sun, 
As Egypt's pearl dissolved in rosy wine, 



And Cleopatra night drinks all. 'Tis done. 
Love, lay thine hand in mine. 
Come forth, sweet stars, and comfort heaven's heart ; 
Glimmer, ye waves, round else unlighted sands. 
O Night ! divorce our sun and sky apart — 
Never our lips, our hands. 

Sidney Lanier. 




COLERIDGE S GENEVIEVE. 



LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 



61 



A PARTING. 



TCE there's no help, come let us kiss and part: 
Nay, I have done ; you get no more of me ; 
And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart, 
That thus so clearly I myself can free. 
Shake hands forever, cancel all our vows, 
when we meet at any time again, 

, not seen in either of our brows 

we one jot of former love retain. 



Now at the last gasp of Love's latest breath, 

When, his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies ; 

When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death, 

And Innocence is closing up his eyes, — 

Now, if thou wouldst, when all have given him over, 

From death to life thou might'st him yet recover. 

Michael Drayton. 




lumber, like the br 



A MOTHER'S LOVE. 



E, by her smile, how soon the stranger knows : 
How soon by his the glad discovery shows, 
As to her lips she lifts the lovely boy, 

tWhat answering looks of sympathy and joy ! 
He walks, he speaks. In many a broken word, 
His wants, his wishes, and his griefs are heard ; 
And ever, ever to her lap he flies, 
"When rosy sleep comes on with sweet surprise. 



Locked in her arms, his arms across her flung, 
(That name most dear forever on his tongue) , 
As with soft accents round her neck he clings, 
And, cheek to cheek, her lulling song she sings : 
How blest to feel the beatings of his heart, 
Breathe his sweet breath, and bliss for bliss impart: 
Watch o*er his slumbers like the brooding dove, 
And, if she can, exhaust a mother's love! 

Samuel Eogers. 



I DO CONFESS THOU 'RT SWEET. 



DO confess thou 'rt sweet, yet find 
Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets. 

Thy favors are but like the wind, 
That kisses everything it meets. 

And since thou can with more than one, 

Thou 'rt worthy to be kissed by none. 



The morning rose, that untouched stands, 
Armed with her briers, how sweetly smells ! 

But plucked and strained through ruder hands, 
Her sweet no longer with her dwell:-; 

But scent and beauty both are gone, 

And leaves fall from her, one by on? 

SirEo' trt Ayton. 



62 



THE EOYAL GALLERY. 



THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE. 



fOME live with me and be my love, 
And we will ail the pleasures prove 
That hill and valley, grove and field, 
And all the craggy mountains yield. 
There will we sit upon the rocks, 
And see the shepherds feed their flocks 
By shallow rivers, to whose falls 
Melodious birds sing madrigals. 
There will I make thee beds of roses, 
With a thousand fragrant posies ; 
A cap of flowers and a kirtle 
Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle; 



A gown made of the finest wool 
Which from our pretty lambs we pull ; 
Slippers lin'd choicely for the cold, 
With buckles of the purest gold ; 
A belt of straw and ivy buds, 
With coral clasps and amber studs. 
The shepherd swains shall dance and sing 
For thy delight each May morning ; 
And if these pleasures may thee move, 
Then live with me and be my love. 

Christopher Marlowe. 



THE NYMPH'S REPLY TO THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD. 



ipF all the world and love were young 
<s4h> And truth in every shepherd's tongue, 

T These pretty pleasures might me move 
To live with thee, and be thy love. 

Time drives the flocks from fleld to fold, 
When rivers rage and rocks grow cold ; 
And Philomel becometh dumb, 
The rest complain of cares to come. 

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields 
To wayward winter reckoning yields ; 
A honey tongue, a heart of gall, 
Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall. 



Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, 
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, 
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten, 
In folly ripe, in reason rotten. 

Thy belt of straw and ivy buds, 
Thy coral clasps and amber studs; 
All these in me no means can move 
To come to thee and be thy love. 

But could youth last, and love still breed, 
Had joys no date, nor age no need, 
Then these delights my mind might move 
To live with thee and be thy love. 

Sir Walter Raleigh. 



LOVE IS A SICKNESS. 



fOVE is a sickness full of woes 
All remedies refusing ; 
A plant that most with cutting grows, 
Most barren with best using. 
Why so? 
More we enjoy it, more it dies ; 
If not enjoyed, it sighing cries 
Heigh-ho ! 



-c—t^WZ^^ZOTs^r-J- 



Love is a torment of the mind, 

A tempest everlasting ; 
And Jove hath made it of a kind, 
Not well, nor full, nor fasting. 
Why so? 
More we enjoy it, more it dies; 
If not enjoyed, it sighing cries 
Heigh-ho ! 

Samuel Daniel. 



FREEDOM IN DRESS. 



§H|TILL to be neat, still to be drest, 
«™s| As you were going to a feast; 
JL Still to be powdered, still perfumed - 
4 Lady, it is to be presumed, 
Though art's hid causes are not found, 
All is not sweet, all is not sound. 



Give me a look, give me a face, 

That makes simplicity a grace ; 

Robes loosely flowing, hair as free — 

Such sweet neglect more taketh me 

Than all the adulteries of art : 

They strike mine, eyes, but not my heart. 

Ben Jonson. 



LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 



63 



PHILLIS THE FAIR. 



a hill there grows a flower, 
Fair befall the dainty sweet! 
"t^C 9 By the flower there is a bower 
jl Where the heavenly muses meet. 
In that bower there is a chair, 
Fringed all about with gold, 
Where doth sit the fairest fail- 
That ever eye did yet behold. 
It is Phillis, fair and bright, 
She that is the shepherd's joy, 



She that Venus did despite, 
And did blind her little boy. 

Who would not that face admire? 

Who would not this saint adore? 
Who would not this sight desire? 

Though he thought to see uo more. 

Thou that art the shepherd's queen, 
Look upon thy love-sick swain; 

By thy comfort have been seen 
Dead men brought to life again. 

Nicholas Breton. 




" We sat in the hush of Summer e 
Saying but little, yet loving much. 



YOU AND I. 



[AT if either of us should die? 

Could the hearts that have loved us so tenderly 

Be severed by death? Not so ! not so ! 

My soul leans out from its house of clay, 
When the breeze that has fanned your cheek goes by, 
And says : " She's near ! " I feel the touch 
Of her lip to mine ! of her hand, at play 



With my hair as it did, when, long ago, 
We sat in the hush of summer eves, 
Saying but little, yet loving much. 
And believing all that Love believes. 
And so I know, whate'er I list, 
Our souls shall keep thy holy tryst 
Through all the years of the life to be. 

W. H. Burleigh. 



'j4 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



0, SAW TE THE LASS. 



f||, SAW ye the lass wi' the bonuie blue een? 

gP Her smile is the sweetest that ever was seen, 

W Her cheek like the rose is, but fresher, I ween ; 

W She's the loveliest lassie that trips on the green. 
The home of my love is below in the valley, 
Where wild flowers welcome the wandering bee ; 
But the sweetest of flowers in that spot that is seen 
Ts the maid that I love wi' the bonny blue een. 



When night overshadows her cot in the glen, 
She '11 steal out to meet her loved Donald again; 
And when the moon shines on the valley so green, 
I'll welcome the lass wi' the bonny blue een. 
As the dove that has wandered away from his nest 
Returns to the mate his fond heart loves the best, 
I'll fly from the world's false and vanishing scene, 
To my dear one, the lass wi 1 the bonny blue een. 
Richard Ryan. 

.4?. 



WE PARTED IN SILENCE. 



parted in silence, we parted by night, 
On the banks of that lonely river ; 
Where the fragrant limes their boughs unite. 
We met — and we parted forever! 
The night-bird sung and the stars above 

Told many a touching story, 
Of friends long passed to the kingdom of love, 

Where the soul wears its mantle of glory. 

We parted in silence — our cheeks were wet 

With the tears that were past controlling; 

We vowed we would never, no never, forget, 

And those vows at the time were consoling. 



But those lips that echoed the sounds of minfe 

Are as cold as that lonely river ; 
And that eye, that beautiful spirit's shrine, 

Has shrouded its fires forever. 
And now on the midnight sky I look, 

And my heart grows full of weeping; 
Each star is to me a sealed book, 

Some tale of that loved one keeping. 

We parted in silence — we parted in tears, 

On the banks of that lonely river; 
But the odor and bloom of those by-gone years 

Shall hang o'er its waters forever. 

Julia Crawford. 



COME TO ME, DEAREST. 



|OME to me, dearest," I'm lonely without thee, 
Daytime and night-time, I'm thinking about 

thee; 
Night-time and daytime, in dreams I behold 
thee; 

Unwelcome the waking which ceases to fold thee. 
Come to me, darling, my sorrows to lighten, 
Come in thy beauty to bless and to brighten; 
Come in thy womanhood, meekly and lowly, 
Come in thy lovingness, queenly and holy. 

Swallows will flit round the desolate ruin, 
Telling of spring and its joyous renewing; 
And thoughts of thy love, and its manifold treasure, 
Are circling my heart with a promise of pleasure. 
O Spring of my spirit, O May of my bosom, 
Shine out on my soul, till it bourgeon and blossom; 
The waste of my life has a rose-root within it, 
And thy fondness alone to the sunshine can win it. 

Figure that moves like a song through the even ; 
Features lit up by a reflex of heaven ; 
Eyes like the skies of poor Erin, our mother, 
Where shadow and sunshine are chasing each other ; 



Smiles coming seldom, but childlike and simple, 
Planting in each rosy cheek a sweet dimple ;— 
O, thanks to the Saviour, that even thy seeming 
Is left to the exile to brighten his dreaming. 

You have been glad when you knew I was glad- 



Dear, are you sad now, to hear I am saddened? 
Our hearts ever answer in tune and in time, love, 
As octave to octave, and rhyme unto rhyme, love : 
I cannot weep but your tears will be flowing, 
You cannot smile but my cheek will be glowing ; 
I would not die without you at my side, love, 
You will not linger when I shall have died, love. 
Come to me, dear, ere I die of my sorrow, 
Rise on my gloom like the sun of to-morrow , 
Strong, swift, and fond as the words which I speak, 

love, 
With a song on your lip and a smile on your cheek, 

love. 
Come, for my heart in your absence is weary,— 
Haste, for my spirit is sickened and dreary, — 
Come to the arms which alone should caress thee, 
Come to the heart that is throbbing to press thee! 
Toseph Brennan. 



LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 



G5 



ABSENCE. 



f^OM you have I been absent in the spring, 
When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim. 
Hath put a spirit of youth in everything 
Thatheavy Saturn laugh'd, and leaped with him : 
Yet nor the lay of birds, nor the sweet smell 
Of different flowers in odor and in hue, 
Could make me any summer's story tell, 
Or from then: proud lap pluck them where they grew 



Nor did I wonder at the lily's white, 
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose; 
They were but sweet, but figures of delight, 
Drawn after you ; you pattern of all those. 
Yet seem'd it winter still, and, you away, 
As with your shadow I with these did play. 

"William Shakespeare. 



WHY SO PALE AND WAN, FOND LOVER 



3HY so pale and wan, fond lover! 

Prythee why so pale ? 

™ Will, when looking well can't move her, 

Looking ill prevail? 

Prythee why so pale ? 

Why so dull and mute, young sinner! 
Prvthee why so mute? 



Will, when speaking well can't win her, 
Saying nothing do 't? 
Prythee why so mute? 

Quit, quit for shame ! this will not move, 

This cannot take her; 
If of herself she will not love. 

Nothing can make her : — 

The devil take her ! 

Sir John Suckling. 



DON'T BE SORROWFUL, DARLING. 



gH| DON'T be sorrowful, darling! 
^Hp And don't bo sorrowful, pray : 
*}^C Taking the year together, my dear, 
Ji There isn't more night than day. 

'Tis rainy weather, my darling ; 

Time's waves they heavily run ; 
But taking the year together, my dear, 
, There isn't more cloud than sun. 

We are old folks now. my darling, 
Our heads are growing gray: 

But taking the year all round, my dear, 
You will always find the Mav. 



We have had our 3Iay. my darling, 

And our roses long ago ; 
And the time of the year is coming, my dear, 

For the silent night and the snow. 

But God is God, my darling, 

Of the night as well as the day ; 
And we feel and know that we can go 

Wherever He leads the way. 

A God of the night, my darling 

Of the night of death so grim ; 
The gate that leads out of life, good wife, 

Is the gate that leads to Him. 

Rembrandt Peaee. 



JULIA. 



§I||?OME ask'd me where the rabies grew, 
|P|| And nothing I did say, 
"^vBut with my finger pointed to 
Js The lips of Julia. 
•¥ 

Some ask'd how pearls did grow, and where : 
Then spoke I to my ghie, 



To part her lips, and shewed them there 
The quarelets of pearl. 

One ask'd me where the roses grew ; 

I bade him not go seek ; 
But forthwith bade my Julia show 

A bud in either cheek. 

Robert Herrick. 



c§ 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 




with quiet grace, the shaded path along." 



THE BLOOM WAS ON THE ALDER AND THE TASSEL 
ON THE CORN. 



HEARD 



the bob-white whistle in the dewy breath I stood with beating heart beside the babbling 



Mae-o-chee, 
f The bloom was on the alder and the tassel on the To see my love come down the gien to keep her tryst 

•if ™™ With lllC 



of morn: 
loom 
corn. 



LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 



67 



I saw her pace, -with quiet grace, the shaded path 'Tis sweet to hear the pattering rain, that lulls a dim- 
along, lit dream — 
And pause to pluck a flower, or hear the thrush's 'Tis sweet to hear the song of birds, and sweet the 

rippling stream; 
'Tis sweet amid the mountain pines to hear the south 

winds sigh. 
More sweet than these and all beside was the loving, 
low reply. 



Denied by her proud father as a suitor to be seen, 
She came to me, with loving trust, my gracious little 
queen. 

Above my station, heaven knows, that gentle maiden 
shone, 



The little hand I held in mine held all I had of life, 



For she was belle and wide beloved and I a youth To mold its better destin >" and s00the to slee P its 

strife. 



unknown. 
The rich and great about her thronged, and sought on 

bended knee 
For love this gracious princess gave, with all her 

heart, to me. 

So like a startled fawn before my longing eyes she 
stood, 

With all the freshness of a girl in flush of woman- 
hood. 

I trembled as I put my arm about her form divine, 



'Tis said that angels watch o'er men, commissioned 

from above; 
My angel walked with me on earth, and gave to me 

her love. 

Ah! dearest wife, my heart is stirred, my eyes are dim 

with tears — 
I think upon the loving faith of all these bygone 

years, 
For now we stand upon this spot, as in that dewy 

morn. 



And stammered, as in awkward speech, I begged her With the bloom upon the alder and the tassel on 
to be mine. the corn. 

Don Pi ati. 



o<~e#*>o<. 



THE GOWAN GLITTEKS ON THE STTAKD. 



jHE gowan glitters on the sward, 

The laverock's in the sky, 
'And Collie on my plaid keeps ward, 
And time is passing by. 
O, no ! sad and slow, 

And lengthened on the ground ; 
The shadow of our trysting bush 
It wears so slowly round. 



I coft yestreen, frae Chapman Tarn, 

A snood o' bonnie blue, 
And promised, when our trysting cam', 
To tie it round her brow. 
O, no! sad and slow, 

The mark it winna' pass; 
The shadow o' that dreary bush 
Is tethered on the grass. 



My sheep-bells tinkle frae the west, 

My lambs are bleating near ; 
But still the sound that I love best, 
Alack ! I canna hear. 
O, no! sad and slow, 

The shadow lingers still; 

And like a lanely gaist I stand, 

And croon upon the hill. 

I hear below the water roar, 
The mill wi' clacking din, 
And Lucky scolding frae the door, 
To ca' the bairnies in. 
O, no ! sad and slow, 

These are nae sounds for me ; 
The shadow of our trysting bush 
It creeps sae drearily. 



O, now I see her on the way ! 

She's past the witch's knowe; 
She's climbing up the brownie's brae; 
My heart is in a lowe. 
O, no ! 'tis not so, 

'Tis glamrie I hae seen; 
The shadow o' that hawthorn bush 
Will move nae mair till e'en. 

My book o' grace I'll try to read, 
Though conned wi' little skill; 
When Collie barks I'll raise my head, 
And find her on the hill. 
O, no! sad and slow. 

The time will ne'er be gane ; 
The shadow o' our tiysting bush 
Is fixed like ony stane. 

Joanna Baillie. 



G8 



THE EOYAL GALLERY. 



SHE WALKS m BEAUTY. 



?HE walks in beaut}', like the night 
I Of cloudless cliines and starry skies, 
? And all that's best of dark and bright 

Meet in her aspect and her eyes, 
Thus mellowed to that tender light 

Which heaven to gaudy day denies. 

One shade the more, one ray the less, 
Had half impaired the nameless grace 

Which waves in every raven tress 
Or softly lighteus o'er her face, 



Where thoughts serenely sweet express 
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. 

And on that cheek and o'er that brow 

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, 
The smiles that win, the tints that glow, 

But tell of days in goodness spent — 
A mind at peace with all below, 

A hea rt whose love is innocent. 

Lord Byron. 



AUX ITALIENS. 



|Bft;T Paris it was, at the opera there; 
Wtm And she looked like a queen in a book that 
j|f? night, 

|[ With the wreath of pearls in her raven hair, 
And the brooch on her breast so bright. 

Of all the operas that Verdi wrote, 
The best, to my taste, is the Trovatore '; 

And Mario can soothe, with a tenor note, 
The souls in purgatory. 

The moon on the tower slept soft as snow; 

And who was not thrilled in the strangest way, 
As we heard him sing, while the gas burned low, 

"Non ti scordar di me?" 
The Emperor there, in his box of state, 

Looked grave; as if he had just seen 
The red Hag wave from the city gate, 

Where his eagles in bronze had been. 

The Empress, too, had a tear in her eye : 
You'd have said that her fancy had gone back 
again, 

For one moment, under the old blue sky 
To the old glad life in Spain. 

Well, there in our front-row box we sat 
Together, my bride betrothed and I; 

My gaze was fixed on my opera-hat, 
And hers on the stage hard by. 

And both were silent, and both were sad — 
Like a queen she leaned on her full white arm, 

With that regal, indolent air she had — 
So confident of her charm ! 

I have not a doubt she was thinking then 
Of her former lord, good soul that he was, 

Who died the richest and roundest of men, 
The Marquis of Carabas. 

I hope that to get to the kingdom of heaven, 
Through a needle's eye he had not to pass; 

I wish him well for the jointure given 
To my lady of Carabas. 



Meanwhile, I was thinking of my first love 
As I had not been thinking of aught for years ; 

Till over my eyes there began to move 
Something that felt like tears. 

I thought of the dress that she wore last time, 
When we stood 'neath the cypress-trees together, 

In that lost land, in that soft clime, 
In the pleasant evening weather ; 

Of that muslin dress (for the eve was hot) , 
And her warm white neck in its golden chain; 

And her full soft hair, just tied in a knot, 
And falling loose again; 

Of the jasmine flower that she wore in her breast, 
(O the faint, sweet smell of that jasmine flower!) 

And the one bird singing alone in his nest, 
And the one star over the tower. 

I thought of our little quarrels and strife, 
And the letter that brought me back my ring; 

And it all seemed then, in the waste of life, 
Such a very little thing! 

For I thought of her grave below the hill, 
Which the sentinel cypress-tree stands over: 

And I thought, '• Were she only living still, 
How I could forgive her and love her!" 

And I swear, as I thought of her thus, in that hour, 
And of how, after all, old things are best, 

That I smelt the smell of that jasmine flower 
Which she used to wear in her breast. 

It smelt so faint, and it smelt so sweet, 
It made me creep, and it made me cold! 

Like the scent that steals from the crumbling sheet 
Where a mummy is half unrolled. 

And I turned and looked : she was sitting there, 
In a dim box over the stage ; and drest 

In that muslin dress, with that full soft hair, 
And that jasmine in her breast! 



LOVE AXD FRIENDSHIP. 



69 



I was here, and she was there; 

And the glittering horseshoe curved between!— 
From my bride betrothed, with her raven hair 

And her sumptuous scornful mien, 

To my early love with her eyes downcast, 
And over her primrose face the shade, 

(In short, from the future back to the past.) 
There was but a step to be made. 

To my early love from my future bride 
One moment I looked. Then I stole to the door, 

I traversed the passage ; and down at her side 
I was sitting, a moment more. 

My thinking of her, or the music's strain, 
Or something which never will be exprest, 

Had brought her back from the grave again, 
With the jasmine in her breast. 

She is not dead, and she is, not wed ! 

But she loves me now, and she loved me then ! 
And the very first word that her sweet lips said. 

My heart grew youthful again. 



The marchioness there, of Carabas, 

She is wealthy, and young, and handsome still; 
And but for her — well, we '11 let that pass ; 

She may many whomever she will. 

But I will marry my own first love. 

With her primrose face, for "old things are best; 
And the flower in her bosom, I prize it above 

The brooch in my lady's breast. 

The world is filled with folly and sin, 
And love must cling where it can, I say : 

For beauty is easy enough to win ; 
But one is n't loved ever}' day. 

And I think, in the lives of most women and men, 
There's a moment when all would go smooth as 
even, 

If only the dead could .find out when 
To come back and be forgiven. 

But O, the smell of that jasmine flower! 

And O, the music ! and O, the way 
That voice rang out from the donjon tower — 

Non ti scordar di me, 

Non ti scordar di me I 

Robert Bulwer Lytton. 



THE WELCOME. 



f^OME in the evening or come in the morning. 
j Come when you're looked for, or come without 
* Avarning, 

JK Kisses and welcome you'll find here before you, 
V And the oftcner you come here the more I'll 

adore you. 
Light is my heart since the day we were plighted. 
Red is my cheek that they told me was blighted; 
The green of the trees looks far greener than ever, 
And the linnets are singing, " True lovers, don't 
sever! " 

I'll pull you sweet flowers, to wear if you choose them ; 
Or, after you've kissed them, they'll lie on my bosom. 
I'll fetch from the mountain its breeze to inspire you; 
I'll fetch from my fancy a tale that won't tire you. 

Oh! your step's like the rain to the summer-vexed 
farmer. 

Or saber and shield to a knight without armor; 

I'll sing you sweet songs till the stars rise above me, 

Then, wandering, I'll wish you, in silence, to love 
me. 



We'll look through the trees at the cliff and the eyrie, 
We'll tread round the rath on the track of the fairy, 
We'll look on the stars, and we'll list to the river, 
Till you ask of your darling what gift you can give her. 
Oh! she'll whisper you, "Love, as unchangeably 

beaming, 
And trust, when in secret most tunef ully streaming, 
Till the starlight of heaven above us shall quiver, 
As our souls flow in one down eternity's river." 

So come in the evening or come in the morning, 
Come when you're looked for, or come without warn- 
ing- 
Kisses and welcome you'll find here before you, 
And the of tener you come here the more I'll adore you ! 
Light is my heart since the day we were plighted ; 
Red is my cheek that they told me was blighted ; 
The green of the trees looks far greener than ever, 
And the linnets are singing, "True lovers, don't 
sever." 

Thomas Davis. 



Never burn kindly written letters : it is so pleasant to read them over when the ink 
is brown, the paper yellow with age, and the hands that traced the friendly words ar~ 
folded over the hearts that prompted them. Keep all loving letters. Burn only the harsh 
ones, and in burning, forgive and forget them. 



70 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



A PASTORAL, 



JffliJY time, O ye Muses, was happily spent, 
KSg^s When Phoebe went with me wherever I went; 
»ip^ Ten thousand sweet pleasures I felt in my 
jf breast : 

| Sure never fond shepherd like Colin was blest ! 
\ But now she is gone and has left me behind, 
What a marvellous change on a sudden I find ! 
When things were as fine as could possibly be, 
I thought 't was the Spring; but alas ! it was she. 



But now I so cross and so peevish am grown, 
So strangely uneasy, as never was known. 
My fair one is gone, and my joys are all drowned, 
And my heart — I am sure it weighs more than a 
pound. 

The fountain that wont to run sweetly along, 
And dance to soft murmurs the pebbles among ; 
Thou know'st, little Cupid, if Phoebe was there, 
'T was pleasure to look at, 't was music to hear: 




SJEgB 

For ne'er was poor shepherd so sadly forlorn." 



With such a companion to tend a few sheep, 
To rise up and play, or to lie down and sleep : 
I was so good-humored, so cheerful and gay, 
My heart was as light as a feather all day; 



But now she is absent, I walk by its side, 
And still, as it murmurs, do nothing but chide; 
Must you be so cheerful, while I go in pain? 
Peace there with your bubbling, and hear 
complain. 



LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 



My lambkins around mo would oftentimes pla}', 
And Phoebe and I were as joyful as they; 
How pleasant their sporting, how happy their time, 
When Spring, Love, and Beauty were all in their 

prime : 
But now, in their frolics when by me they pass, 
I fling at their fleeces a handful of grass; 
Be still, then, I cry, for it makes me quite mad, 
To see you so merry while 1 am so sad. 

My clog I was ever well pleased to see 
Come wagging his tail to my fair one and me; 
And Phoebe was pleased too, and to my dog said, 
"Come hither, poor fellow; " and patted his head. 
But now, when he's fawning, I with a sour look 
Cry "Sirrah!" and give him a blow with my 

crook : 
And I'll give him another; for why should not Tray 
Be as dull as his master, when Phoebe 's aw;iv? 

When walking with Phoebe, what sights have I 
seen, 
How fair was the flower, how fresh was the green! 
What a lovely appearanee the trees and the shade, 
The cornfields and hedges and everything made! 
But now she has left me, though all are still there. 
They none of them now so delightful appear : 
'T was naught but the magic, I find, of her eyes, 
Made so many beautiful prospects arise. 

Sweet music went with us both all the wood 
through, 
The lark, linuet, throstle, and nightingale, too; 
Winds over us whispered, flocks by us did bleat, 
And chirp ! went the grasshopper under our feet. 



But now she is absent, though still they sing on, 
The woods are but lonely, the melody's gone : 
Her voice in the concert, as now I have found, 
Gave everything else its agreeable sound. 

Rose, what is become of thy delicate hue? 
And where is the violet's beautiful blue? 
Does aught of its sweetness the blossoms beguile? 
That meadow, those daisies, why do they not smile? 
Ah! rivals, I see why it was that you drest, 
And made yourselves fine for — a place in her breast; 
You put on your colors to pleasure her eye, 
To be plucked by her hand, on her bosom to die. 

How slowly Time creeps till my Phoebe return ! 
While amidst the soft zephyr's cool breezes I burn : 
Methinks if I knew whereabouts he would tread, 
I could breathe on his wings, and 't would melt 

down the lead. 
Fly swifter, ye minutes, bring hither my dear, 
And rest so much longer for 't when she is here. 
Ah, Colin ! old Time is full of delay, 
Xor will budge one foot faster for all thou canst 

say. 

Will no pitying power, that hears me complain, 
Or cure my disquiet or soften my pain? 
To be cured, thou must, Colin, thy passion remove; 
But what swain is so silly to live without love! 
No, deity, bid the dear nymph to return. 
For ne'er was poor shepherd so sadly forlorn. 
Ah! what shall I do? I shall die with despair; 
Take heed, all ye swains, how ye part with your 
fair. 

John Byko.m. 



LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT. 



|HE racing river leaped and sang 

?S Full blithely in the perfect, weather. 

* All round the mountain echoes rang, 

I For blue and green were glad together. 

This rains out light from every part. 

And that with songs of joy was thrilling; 

But in the hollow of my heart, 

There ached a place that wanted tilling. 

Before the road and river meet, 

And stepping-stones are wet and glisten, 
I heard a sound of laughter sweet, 

And paused to like it, and to listen. 

I heard the chanting waters flow, 
The cushat's note, the bee's low humming. 

Then turned the hedge, and did not know — 
How could I? that my time was coming. 

A girl upon the highest stone. 

Half doubtful of the deed, was standing. 



So far the shallow flood had flown. 
Beyond the 'customed leap of landing. 

She knew not any need of me, 
Yet me she Avantcd all unweeting; 

She thought not I had crossed the sea. 
And half the sphere, to give her meeting. 

I waded out, her eyes T met, 

I wished the moments had been hours; 
I took her in my arms and set 

Her dainty feet among the flowers. 

Her fellow-maids in copse and lane. 

Ah! still, methinks, I hear them calling; 
The wind's soft whisper in the plain, 

That cushat's coo, the water's falling. 

But now it is a year ago, 

And now possession crowns endeavor, 
I took her in my heart to grow 

And fill the hollow place forever. 

Jeax Ixgelow. 



72 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



A SPINNING-WHEEL SONG. 



[ELLOW the moonlight to shine is beginning; 
&*&i Close by the window young Eileen is spinning ; 
' °4>° ' Bent o'er the Are, her blind grandmother sit- 
f ting, 

J Is croning, and moaning, and drowsily knit- 
ting. 
" Eileen, aehora, I hear some one tapping." 
44 'Tis the ivy, dear mother, against the glass flap- 
ping." 
''Eileen, I surely hear somebody sighing." 



And he whispers, with face bent, "I'm waiting for 

you, love. 
Get up on the stool, through the lattice step lightly; 
We'll rove in the grove while the moon's shining 
brightly." 
Merrily, cheerily, noisily whirring, 
Swings the wheel, spins the reel, while the foot's 

stirring; 
Sprightly, and lightly, and airily ringing, 
Thrills the sweet voice of the young maiden singing. 




' Clo-e In the window young Eileen is spinning; 
Bent o'er the fire, her blind grandmother, sitting." 



"Tis the sound, mother dear, of the summer wind 

dying." 
Merrily, cheerily, noisily whirring, 
Swings the wheel, spins the reel, while the foot's 

stirring ; 
Sprightly, and lightly, and airily ringing, 
Thrills the sweet voice of the young maiden singing. 

"What's that noise that I hear at the window, 1 
wonder? " 

" 'Tis the little birds chirping the holly-bush under." 

" What makes you be shoving and moving your stool 
on, 

And singing all wrong that old song of 'The 
Coolun? ' " 

There's a form at the casement — the form of her true- 
love; 



The maid shakes her head, on her lip lays her fingers, 
Steals up from her seat, longs to go — and yet lingers ; 
A frightened glance turns to her drowsy grandmother, 
Puts one foot on the stool, spins the wheel with the 

other. 
Lazily, easily, swings now the wheel round ; 
Slowly and lowly is heard now the reel's sound. 
Noiseless and light to the lattice above her 
The maid steps — then leaps to the arms of her lover. 

Slower — and slower — and slower the wheel swings ; 

Lower — and lower — and lower the reel rings. 

Ere the reel and the wheel stop their ringing and 
moving, 

Through the grove the young lovers by moonlight 
are roving. 

John Francis Waller- 



LOVE AND FKEE:NDSHIP. 

PHILIP MY KING. 



73 



|00K at me with thy large brown eyes, 
Philip my king, 
found whom the enshadowing purple lies 
J4 Of babyhood's royal dignities : 
Lay on my neck thy tiny hand, 
With love's invisible scepter laden ; 
I am thine Esther to command 
Till shou shalt rind a queen-handmaiden, 
Philip my king. 



Up from thy sweet mouth — up to thy brow. 

Philip my king ! 
The spirit that there lies sleeping now 
May rise like a giant and make men bow 
As to one Heaven-chosen amongst his peers : 
My Saul, than thy brethren taller and fairer 
Let me behold thee in future years ; — 
Yet thy head needeth a circlet rarer, 

Philip my king. 




" Lay on my neck thy tiny hand, 
With'love's'invisible sceptre laden." 



O the day when thou goest a wooing, 

Philip my king ! 
When those beautiful lips 'gin suing, 
And some gentle heart's bars undoing 
Thou dost enter, love-crowned, and there 
Sittest love-glorified. Rule kindly, 
Tenderly, over thy kingdom fair, 
For we that love, ah? we love so blindly, 

Philip my king. 



A wreath not of gold, but palm. One day, 

Philip my king, 
Thou, too, must tread, as we trod, a way 
Thorny and cruel and cold and gray : 
Rebels within thee and foes without, 
Will snatch at thy crown. But march on, gle 

rious, 
Martyr, yet monarch : till angels shout, 
As thou sitt'st at the feet of God victorious, 

" Philip the king ! " 

Dinah Maria Mulock Craik. 



Prank explanations with friends in case of affronts, sometimes save a perishing friend- 
ship, and even place it on a firmer basis than at first ; but secret discontentment always 
ends badly. 



T4 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



AFTON WATER. 



<*; 



ILOW gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, 
- Flow gently, I'llsing thee a song in thy praise ; 
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, 
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. 



How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below, 
Where wild in the woodland the primroses blow; 
There oft as mild evening weeps over the lea, 
The sweet-scented birk shades my Maiy and me. 




Thou stockdove whose echo resounds through the 

glen, 
Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den, 
Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear, 
I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair. 

How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighboring hills, 
Far marked with the courses of clear, winding rills ; 
There daily I wander as noon rises high, 
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye. 



Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides, 
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides ; 
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave, 
As gathering sweet flowerets she stems thy clear 
wave. 

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, 
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays ; 
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, 
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. 

Robert Burns. 



Love would put a new face on this dreary old world in which we dwell as pagans and 
enemies too long; and it would warm the heart to see how fast the vain diplomacy of 
statesmen, the impotence of armies and navies and lines of defense, would be superseded 
bv this unarmed child. 



LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 



75 




THE LILY-POND. 



J|,OME fair}' spirit with his wand, 
$H$ I think, has hovered o'er the dell, 
•Jv And spread this film upon the pond, 
'I' And touched it with this drowsy spell, 

For here the musing soul is merged 
In woods no other scene can bring, 



And sweeter seems the air when scourged 
With wandering wild-bee's murmuring. 

One ripple streaks the little lake, 
Sharp purple-blue ; the birches, thin 

And silvery, crowd the edge, yet break 
To let a straying sunbeam in. 



76 



TIIE ROYAL GALLERY. 



How came we through the yielding wood, 
That day, to this sweet-rustling shores' 

Oh ! there together while we stood, 
A butterfly was wafted o'er. 

In sleepy light; and even now 
His glimmering beauty doth return 

Upon me when the soft winds blow, 
And lilies toward the sunlight yearn. 

The yielding wood? And yet 'twas loth 
To yield unto our happy march ; 

Doubtful it seemed, at times, if boib 
Could pass its green, elastic arch. 

Yet there, at last, upon the marge 
We found ourselves, and there, behold, 

In hosts the lilies, white and large. 
Lay close with hearts of downy gold ! 

Deep in the weedy waters spread 
The rootlets of the placid bloom : 



So sprung my love's flower, that was bred 
In deep still waters of heart's-gloom. 

So sprung ; and so that morn was nursed 
To live in light, and on the pool 

Wherein its roots were deep immersed 
Burst into beauty broad and cool. 



Few words were said, as moments 
I know not how it came — that awe 

And ardor of a glance that cast 
Our love in universal law. 

But all at once a bird sang loud, 
From dead twigs of the gleamy beech ; 

His notes dropped dewy, as from a cloud, 
A blessing on our married speech. 

Ah, Love ! how fresh and rare, even now, 
That moment and that mood return 

Upon me, when the soft winds blow, 
And lilies toward the sunlight yearn ! 

George Parsons Lathrop. 



t 



CUPID AND CAMPASPE. 



'ID and my Campaspe play'd 
At cards for kisses ; Cupid paid. 
He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows, 
His mother's doves and team of sparrows 
Loses them too, and down he throws 

The coral of his lip — the rose 

Growing on 's cheek, but none knows how ; 



With these the crystal on his brow, 
And then the dimple of his chin; 
All these did my Campaspe win ; 
At last he set her both his eyes,. 
She won, and Cupid blind did rise. 
O Love, hath she done this to thee? 
What shall, alas, become of me! 

John Lylt. 



THE DAY RETURNS, 

. ^j,v , 

III HE day returns, my bosom burns, 
^jSpl The blissful day we twa did meet; 
X! Though winter wild in tempest toiled, 
*jp Ne'er summer sun was half sae sweet. 
Than a' the pride that loads the tide, 
And crosses o'er the sultry line, — 
Than kingly robes, and crowns and globes, 
Heaven gave me more; it made thee mine. 



MY BOSOM BURNS. 

"\Tfhile day and night can bring delight. 

Or nature aught of pleasure give, — 
While joys above my mind can move. 

For thee and thee alone I live ; 
When that grim foe of life below 

Comes in between to make us part. 
The iron hand that breaks our band, 

It breaks my bliss — it breaks my heart. 

Robert Burns. 



Cultivate a spirit of love. Love is the diamond amongst the jewels of the believer's 
breastplate. The other graces shine like the precious stones of nature, with their own 
peculiar lustre, and various hues ; now in white all the colors are united, so in love is 
centred every other grace and virtue; love is the fulfilling of the law. 



GLIMPSES OF NATURE. 




A FOREST HYMN. 



|U||HE groves were God*s first temples. Ere man 
^jsss learned 

'W* To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, 
J4 And spread the roof above them— ere he framed 
The lofty vault, to gather and roll hack 
The sound of anthems ; in the darkling wood, 

G 



Amidst the cool and silence, he knelt down, 
And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks 
And supplication. For his simple heart 
Might not resist the sacred influences 
Which, from the stilly twilight of the place, 
And from the gray old trunks that high in heaven 

77 



THE EOYAL GALLERY. 



Mingled their mossy boughs, and Irom the sound 
Of the invisible breath that swayed at once 
All their green tops, stole over him, and bowed 
His spirit with the thought of boundless power 
And inaccessible majesty. Ah, why 
Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect 
God's ancient sanctuaries, and adore 
Only among the crowd, and under roofs 
That our frail hands have raised? Let me, at least, 
Here, in the shadow of this aged wood, 
Offer one hymn — thrice happy if it find 
Acceptance in his ear. 

Father, thy hand 
Hath reared these venerable columns ; thou 
Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down 
Upon the naked earth, and forthwith rose 
All these fair ranks of trees. They in thy sun 
Budded, and shook their green leaves in thy breeze, 
And shot towards heaven. The century-liviug crow, 
Whose birth was in their tops, grew old and died 
Among their branches, till at last they stood, 
As now they stand, massy and tall and dark, 
Fit shrine for humble worshiper to hold 
Communion with his Maker. These dim vaults, 
These winding aisles, of human pomp or pride 
Report not. No fantastic carvings show 
The boast of our vain race to change the form 
Of thy fair works. But thou art here — thou fdl'st 
The solitude. Thou art in the soft winds 
That rim along the summit of these trees 
In music; thou art in the cooler breath 
That from the inmost darkness of the place 
Comes, scarcely felt; the barky trunks, the ground, 
The fresh moist ground, are all instinct with thee. 
Here is continual worship ; — nature, here, 
In the tranquility that thou dost love, 
Enjoys thy presence. Noiselessly around, 
From perch to perch, the solitary bird 
Passes; and you clear spring, that, midst its herbs, 
Wells softly forth and wandering steeps the roots 
Of half the mighty forest, tells no tale 
Of all the good it does. Thou has not left 
Thyself without a witness, in these shades, 
Of thy perfections. Grandeur, strength and grace 
Are here to speak of thee. This mighty oak,— 
By whose immovable stem I stand and seem 
Almost annihilated,— not a prince, 
In all that proud old world beyond the deep, 
E'er wore his crown as loftily as he 
Wears the green coronal of leaves with which 
Thy hand has graced him. Nestled at his root 
Is beauty, such as blooms not in the glare 
Of the broad sun. That delicate forest flower 
With scented breath, and look so like a smile. 



Seems, as it issues from the shapeless mould, 
An emanation of the indwelling Life, 
A visible token of the upholding Love, 
That are the soul of this wide universe. 

My heart is awed within me when I think 
Of the great miracle that still goes on, 
In silence, round me,— the perpetual work 
Of thy creation, finished, yet renewed 
Forever. Written on thy works I read 
The lesson of thy own eternity. 
Lo ! all grow old and die; but see again, 
How on the faltering footsteps of decay 
Youth presses, — ever gay and beautiful youth 
In all its beautiful forms. These lofty trees 
Wave not less proudly that their ancestors 
Moulder beneath them. O, there is not lost 
One of Earth's charms ! upon her bosom yet, 
After the flight of untold centuries, 
The freshness of her far beginning lies, 
And yet shall lie. Life mocks the idle hate 
Of his arch-enemy Death,— yea, seats himself 
Upon the tyrant's throne, the sepulchre, 
And of the triumphs of his ghastly foe 
Makes his owu nourishment. For he came forth 
From thine own bosom, and shall have no end. 

There have been holy men who hid themselves 
Deep in the woody wilderness, and gave 
Their lives to thought and prayer, till they outlived 
The generation born with them, nor seemed 
Less aged than the hoary trees and rocks 
Around them; — and there have been holy men 
Who deemed it were not well to pass life thus. 
But let me often to these solitudes 
Retire, and in thy presence reassure 
My feeble virtue. Here its enemies, 
The passions, at thy plainer footsteps shrink 
And tremble, and are still. O God! when thou 
Dost scare the world with tempests, set on fire 
The heavens with falling thunderbolts, or fill 
With all the waters of the firmament, 
The swift dark whirlwind that uproots the woods 
And drowns the villages; when, at thy call, 
Uprises the great deep, and throws himself 
Upon the continent, and overwhelms 
Its cities, — who forgets not, at the sight 
Of these tremendous tokens of thy power, 
His pride, and lays his strifes and follies by? 
O, from these sterner aspects of thy face 
Spare me and mine, nor let us need the wrath 
Of the mad unchained elements to teach 
Who rules them. Be it ours to meditate, 
In these calm shades, thy milder majesty, 
And to the beautiful order of thy works 
Learn to conform the order of our lives. 

William Cullen Bryant, 



GLIMPSES OF NATURE. 



79 



NATURE. 



f§H|§HE bubbling brook doth leap when I come by, 
WSm Because my feet rind measure with its call; 
The birds know when the friend they love is nigh 
For I am known to them, both great and small 
The flower that on the lonely hillside grows 
Expects me there when spring its bloom has given; 
And many a tree and bush my wanderings knows, 



And e'en the clouds and silent stars of heaven ; 

For he who with his Maker walks aright, 

Shall be their lord as Adam was before; 

His ear shall catch each sound with new delight, 

Each object wear the dress that then it wore; 

And he, as when erect in soul he stood, 

Hear from his Father's lips that all is good. 

Jones Very. 




Of large extent, hard b 



THE NIGHTINGALE. 



'TIT ND hark! the Nightingale begins its song,- 

j^vVs •■ Most musical, most melancholy" bird! 
VV ?■ A melancholy bird? oh, idle thought! 
■» In Nature there is nothing melancholy. 

'Tis the merry Nightingale, 

That crowds, and hurries, and precipitates 



With fast thick -warble his delicious notes, 
As he were fearful that an April night 
Would be too short for him to utter forth 
His love-chant, and disburden his full soul 
Of all its music ! 



80 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



And I know a grove 
Of large extent, hard by a castle huge, 
"Which the great lord inhabits not; and so 
This grove is wild with tangling underwood, 
And the trim walks are broken up, and grass, 
Thin grass and kingcups, grow within the paths 
But never elsewhere in one place I knew 
So many nightingales; and far and near, 
In wood and thicket, over the wide grove, 
They answer and provoke each other's song, 
With skirmishes and capricious passagings, 
And murmurs musical and swift — jug, jug — 
And one low piping sound more sweet than all, 
Stirring the air with such a harmony, 
That, should you close your eyes, you might almost 



Forget it was not day .' On moonlight hushes, 
Whose dewy leaflets arc but half disclosed, 
You may perchance behold them on the twigs, 
Their bright, bright eyes, their eyes both bright and 

full, 
Glistening, while many a glow-worm in the shade 
Lights up her love-torch. 

And oft a moment's space. 
What time the moon was lost behind a cloud, 
Hath heard a pause of silence ; till the moon 
Emerging, hath awaken'd earth and sky 
With one sensation, and these wakeful birds 
Have all burst forth in choral minstrelsy, 
As if some sudden gale had swept at ouce 
A hundred aiiy harps ! 

Samuel Taylok Coleridge. 




" Wide flush the fields ; the softening air is balm." 



HYMN ON THE SEASONS. 



CSE, as they change, Almighty Father, these 
Are but the varied God. The rolling year 
||{fc Is full of thee. Forth in the pleasing spring 
* Thy beauty walks, thy tenderness and love, 
Wide flush the fields ; the softening air is balm ; 
Echo the mountains round ; the forest smiles ; 
And every sense and every heart is joy. 
Then comes thy glory in the summer months, 
With light and heat refulgent. Then thy sun 
Shoots full perfection through the swelling year, 
And oft thy voice in dreadful thunder speaks ; 
And oft at dawn, deep noon, or falling eve, 
By brooks and groves, in hollow- whispering gales, 
Thy bounty shines in autumn unconfined. 
And spreads a common feast for all that lives. 
In winter awful thou! with clouds and storms 



Around thee thrown, tempest o'er tempest rolled. 
Majestic darkness! on the whirlwind's wing, 




Riding sublime, thou bidst the world acfore, 
And humblest nature with thy northern blast. 



GLIMPSES OF NATURE. 



81 



Mysterious round! what skill, what force divine. 
Deep felt, in these appear ! a simple train, 
Yet so delightful mixed, with such kind art, 
Such beauty and beneficence combined ; 
Shade, unperceived, so softening into shade; 
And all so forming an harmonious whole; 



In adoration join; and, ardent, raise 

One general song! To him, ye vocal gales, 

Breathe soft, whose spirit in your freshness breathes; 

O, talk of him in solitary glooms ! 

Where, o ? er the rock, the scarcely waving pine 

Fills the brown shade with a religious awe. 




1 By brooks and groves, in hollow whispering gales." 



That, as they still succeed, they ravish still. 
But wandering oft, with brute unconscious gaze, 
Man marks not thee, marks not the mighty hand, 
That, ever busy, wheels the silent spheres ; 
Works in the secret deep ; shoots, steaming, thence 
The fair profusion that o'erspreads the spring; 



And ye, whose bolder note is heard afar, 

Who shake the astonished world, lift high to Heaven 

The impetuous song, and say from whom you rage. 

His praise, ye brooks, attune, ye trembling rills; 

And let me catch it as I muse along. 

Ye headlong torrents, rapid and profound; 




1 Thv bounty shines in Autumn unconfineu.' 



Flings from the sun direct the flaming day; 
Feeds every creature ; hurls the tempest forth ; 
And, as on earth this grateful change revolves, 
With transport touches all the springs of life, 

Nature, attend ! join, every living soul, 
Beneath the spacious temple of the sky, 



Ye softer floods, that lead the humid maze 

Along the vale ; and thou, majestic main, 

A secret world of wonders in thyself, 

Sound his stupendous praise; whose greater voice 

Or bids you roar, or bids your roarings fall. 

Soft roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and flowers. 



82 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



In mingled clouds to him, whose sun exalts, 
Whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil paints. 
Ye forests, bend, ye harvests, wave, to him ; 
Breathe your still song into the reaper's heart, 
As home he goes beneath the joyous moon. 



"While cloud to cloud returns the solemn hymn. 
Bleat out afresh, ye hills : ye mossy rocks, 
Retain the sound : the broad responsive low, 
Ye valleys, raise ; for the Great Shepherd reigns ; 
And his unsuffering kingdom yet will come. 




^ 






leys, raise ; for the Great Shepherd re 
And his unsuffering kingdom yet will come." 




Ye that keep watch in heaven, as earth asleep 
Unconscious lies, effuse your mildest beams, 
Ye constellations, while your angels strike, 
Amid the spangled sky, the silver lyre. 
Great source of day ! best image here below 



Ye woodlands all, awake : a boundless song 
Burst from the groves ! and when the restless day, 
Expiring, lays the warbling world asleep, 
Sweetest of birds ! sweet Philomela, charm 
The listening shades, and teach the uight his praise. 




'On nature write witli every beam His praise." 



Of thy Creator, ever pouring wide. 

From world to world, the vital ocean round, 

On nature write with every beam his praise. 

The thunder rolls : be hushed the prostrate world. 



Ye chief, for whom the whole creation smiles, 
At once the head, the heart, and tongue of all, 
Crown the great hymn; in swarming cities vast, 
Assembled men, to the deep organ join 



GLIMPSES OF NATURE. 



The long resounding voice, oft-breaking, clear, 
At solemn pauses, through the swelling bass ; 
And, as each mingling flame increases each, 
In one united ardor rise to Heaven. 
Or if you rather choose the rural shade, 
And find a fane in every sacred grove, 
There let the shepherd's flute, the virgin's lay, 
The prompting seraph, and the poet's lyre, 



Rivers unknown to song, where first the sun 
Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam 
Flames on the Atlantic isles, 'tis naught to me, 
Since God is ever present, ever felt, 
In the void waste as in the city full ; 
And where he vital spreads there must be joy. 
When even at last the solemn hour shall come, 
And wing my mystic flight to future worlds, 




Still sing the God of seasons, as they roll! 
For me, when I forget the darling theme, 
Whether the blossom blows, the summer ray 
Russets the plain, inspiring autumn gleams, 
Or winter rises in the blackening east, 
Be my tongue mute, may fancy paint no more. 
And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat! 

Should fate command me to the farthest verge 
Of the green earth, to distant barbarous climes. 



I cheerful will obey ; there, with new power.,, 

Will rising wonders sing : I cannot go 

Where universal love not smiles around, 

Sustaining all yon orbs, and all their sons; 

From seeming evil still educing good, 

And better thence again, and better still, 

In infinite progression. But I lose 

Myself in him. in light ineffable! 

Conic then, expressive Silence, muse his praise. 

James Thomson. 



NIGHT. 



Aj heaven and earth are still — though not in 
sleep, 

But breathless, as we grow when feeling most ; 

And silent, as we stand in thoughts too deep. 
All heaven and earth are still; from the high host 
Of stars, to the lulled lake and mountain-coast, 
All is concentred in a life intense, 
Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost 
But hath a part of being, and a sense 
Of that whicn is of all Creator and < 



And this is in the night — most glorious night! 
Thou wert not sent for slumber! let me be 
A sharer in thy tierce and far delight. — 
A portion of the tempest and of thee ! 
How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea, 
And the big rain comes dancing to the earth! 
And now again 'tis black — and now, the glee 
Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain-mirth, 
As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth. 
Lord Byron. 



84 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



THE SEA. 



f!ERE is a pleasure in the pathless woods, 
There is a rapture on the lonely shore, 
There is society where none intrudes 
By the deep sea, and music in its roar : 
I love not man the less, hut nature more, 
From these our interviews, in which I steal 
From all I may be, or have been before, 
To mingle with the universe, and feel 
What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal. 



His steps are not upon thy paths — thy fields 
Are not a spoil for him — thou dost arise 
And shake him from thee; the vile strength he wields 
For earth's destruction thou dost all despise, 
Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies, 
And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray 
And howling, to his gods, where haply lies 
His petty hope in some near port or bay, 
And dashest him again to earth : — there let him lay. 




" Dark-heaving; boundless, endless and sublime.' 



Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean— roll! 
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; 
Man marks the earth with ruin — his control 
Stops with the shore ; — upon the watery plain 
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain 
A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, 
Wben. for a moment, like a drop of rain 
He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, 
Without a grave, unknelled, uncoftined and unknown. 



The armaments which thunderstrike the walls 
Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake 
And monarchs tremble in their capitals, 
The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs, make 
Their clay creator the vain title take 
Of lord of thee and arbiter of war — 
These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake, 
They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar 
Alike the Armada's pride or spoils of Trafalgar. 




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■A- VISIT FROM THE SEA 



GLIMPSES OF NATURE. 



Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee ; 
Assyria, Greece, Kome, Carthage, what are they? 
Thy waters wasted them while they were free 
And many a tyrant since ; their shores obey 
The stranger, slave, or savage ; their decay 
Has dried up realms to deserts : not so thou ; 
Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play, 
Time writes no wrinkles on thine azure brow ; 
Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now. 
Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form 
Glasses itself in tempests ; in all time, 
Calm or convulsed, — in breeze, or gale, or storm. 
Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime 
Dark-heaving; boundless, endless and sublime, 



The image of Eternity — the throne 
Of the Invisible ! even from out thy slime 
The monsters of the deep are made; each zone 
Obeys thee ; thou goes forth, dread, fathomless, alone. 

And I have loved thee, Ocean! and my joy 
Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be 
Borne, like thy bubbles, onward ; from a boy 
I wantoned with thy breakers — they to me 
Were a delight ; and if the freshening sea 
Made them a terror, 'twas a pleasing fear; 
For I was as it were a child of thee, 
And trusted to thy billows far and near, 
And laid my hand upon thy mane — as I do here. 
Lord Byron. 



• >--=-.-:- 




THE RAINBOW. 



jgY heart leaps up when I behold 
A rainbow in the sky : 
So was it when my life began ; 
So is it now I am a man ; 



So be it when I shall grow old, 

Or let me die ! 
The child is father of the man ; 
And I could wish my days to be 
Bound each to each by natural piety. 

William Wordsworth. 



THE IiOYAL GALLERY. 

THE SHEPHERD. 



$H, gentle Shepherd ! thine the lot to tend, 
Of all that feels distress, the most assail'd, 
Feeble, defenceless; lenient be thy care; 
But spread around thy tenderest diligence 
In flowery spring-time, when the nevv-dropp'd lamb, 
Tottering with weakness by his mother's side, 
Feels the fresh world about him; and each thorn, 
Hillock, or furrow, trips his feeble feet : 



Eurus oft flings his hail; the tardy fields, 
Pay not their promised food ; and oft the dam 
O'er her weak twins with empty udder mourns, 
Or fails to guard, when tbe bold bird of prey 
Alights, and hops in many turns around, 
And tires her also turning : to her aid 
Be nimble, and the weakest in thine arms 
Gently convey to the warm cote, and oft, 




Gently convey to tl 



Oh! guard his meek, sweet innocence from all 
Th' numerous ills that rush around his life ; 
Mark the quick kite, with beak and talons prone, 
Circling the skies to snatch him from the plain ; 
Observe the lurking crows ; beware the brake — 
There the sly fox the careless minute waits ; 
Nor trust thy neighbor's dog, nor earth, nor sky : 
Thy bosom to a thousand cares divide ; 



Between the lark's note and the nightingale's, 
His hungry bleating still with tepid milk; — 
In this soft office may thy children join, 
And charitable actions learn in sport. 
Nor yield him to himself ere vernal airs 
Sprinkle the little croft with daisy flowers; 
Nor yet forget him; life has rising ills. 

John Dyer. 



GLIMPSES OF NATURE. 



87 



THE WORLD IS TOO MUCH WITH US. 



afflKHE world is too much with us ; late and soon, 
Wsk Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers ; 
jjk Little we see in Nature that is ours ; 
A We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon ! 
•I This sea that bares her bosom to the moon; 
The winds that will be howling at all hours, 
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers ; 



For this, for everything, we are out of tune ; 
It moves us not. Great God! I'd rather be 
A pagau suckled in a creed outworn ; 
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, 
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn ; 
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea, 
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn. 

William Wordsworth. 




And reed-like ech 



' Sweet voices in the "woods, 

have loin;- been mute.' 



BREATHINGS OF SPRING-. 




Sweet voices in the 



been 



iT wak'st thou, Spring? - 

woods, 
And reed-like echoes, that have lon£ 
mute ; 
Thou bringest back, to fill the solitudes, 

The lark's clear pipe, the cuckoo's viewless flute, 
Whose tone seems breathing mournfulness or glee, 
Even as our hearts may be. 



And the leaves greet, Spring!— the joyous leaves, 
Whose tremblings gladden many a copse and 
glade, 
Where each young spray a rosy flush receives, 
When thy south wind hath pierced the whispery 
shade, 
And happy murmurs, running through the grass, 
Tell that thy footsteps pass. 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



And the bright waters — they, too, hear thy call. 
Spring, the awakener! thou has burst their sleep ! 

Amidst the hollows of the rocks their fall 
Makes melody, and in the forests deep, 

"Where sudden sparkles and blue gleams betray 
Their windings to the day. 

And flowers — the fairy -peopled world of flowers! 

Thou from the dust hast set that glory free, 
Coloring the cowslip with the sunny hours, 

And penciling the wood-anemone : 
Silent they seem ; yet each to thoughtful eye 
Glows with mute poesy. 

But what awak'st thou in the heart, O Spring — 
The human heart, with all its dreams and sighs? 

Thou that giv'st back so many a buried thing, 
Restorer of forgotten harmonies ! 

Fresh songs and scents break forth where'er thou art : 
What wak'st thou in the heart? 

Too much, O, there too much! — we know not well 
Wherefore it should be thus; yet, roused by thee, 
What fond, strange yearnings, from the soul's deep 
cell, 
Gush for the faces we no more may see. 
How are we haunted, in thy wind's low tone, 
By voices that are gone ! 

Looks of familiar love, that never more, 
Never on earth, our aching eyes shall meet, 

Past words of welcome to our household door, 
And vanished smiles, and sounds of parted feet — 

Sp>' ! ng, 'midst the murmurs of thy flowering tre<jfc, 
Why, why reviv'st thou these? 



Vain longings for the dead ! — why come they back 
With thy young birds, and leaves, and living 
blooms? 




"Amidst the hollows of the rocks their fall 
Makes melody." 

O, is it not that from thine earthly track 

Hope to thy world may look beyond the tombs? 
Yes, gentle Spring; no sorrow dims thine air, 
Breathed by our loved ones there. 

Felicia Dorothea Hemans. 



VARYING IMPRESSIONS FROM NATURE. 



CANNOT paint 

What then 1 was. The sounding cataract 
Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock, 
The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, 
Their colors and their forms, were then to me 
An appetite, a feeling and a love, 
That had no heed of a remoter charm 
By thoughts supplied, nor any interest 
Unborrowed from the eye. — That time is past, 
And all its aching joys are now no more, 
And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this 
Paint I, nor mourn nor murmur; other gifts 
Have followed : for such loss, I would believe, 
Abundant recompense. For I have learned 
To look on Nature, not as in the hour 
Of thoughtless youth ; but hearing oftentimes 
The still, sad music of humanity, 
Not harsh nor grating, though of ample power 
To chasten and subdue. And I have felt 



A presence that disturbs me with the joy 
Of elevated thoughts ; a sense sublime 
Of something far more deeply interfused, 
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, 
And the round ocean, and the living air, 
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man; 
A motion and a spirit, that impels 
All thinking things, all objects of all thought, 
And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still 
A lover of the meadows and the woods 
And mountains, and of all that we behold 
Prom this green earth; of all the mighty world 
Of eye and ear — both what they half create, 
And what perceive ; well pleased to recognize 
In Nature and the language of the sense. 
The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse, 
The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul 
Of all my moral being. 

William Wordsworth. 



GLIMPSES OF NATURE. 



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00 THE ROYAL GALLERY. 

HYMN BEFORE SUNRISE IN THE YALE OF CHAMOUNI. 



IjIjiAST thou a charm to stay the morning star 
lily In his steep course? So long he seems to 
*W> On thy hald, awful head, O sovran Blanc ! 
J4. The Arve and Arveiron at thy hase 
Rave ceaselessly; hut thou, most awful form! 
Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines, 
How silently! Around thee and above, 
Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black, 
An ebon mass : methinks thou piercest it, 
As with a wedge ! But Avhen I look again, 
It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine, 
Thy habitation from eternity! 



Into the mighty vision passing — there, 

As in her natufal form, swelled vast to Heaven! 

Awake, my soul! not only passive praise 
Thou owest ! not alone these swelling tears 
Mute thanks and secret ecstacy. Awake, 
Voice of Sweet song! Awake, my heart, awake! 
Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my hymn. 

Thou first and chief, sole sovran of the vale! 
O, struggling with the darkness all the night, 
And visited all night by troops of stars, 
Or when they climb the sky or when they sink: 
Companion of the morning star at dawn, 



/ 




1 On thy bald, awful head, O sovran Blanc !" 



dread and silent mount ! I gazed upon thee, 
Till thou, still present to the bodily sense, 

Didst vanish from my thought : entranced in prayer 

1 worshiped the Invisible alone. 

Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody, 
So sweet, we know not we are listening to it, 
Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my thought, 
Yea, with my life and life's own secret joy; 
Till the dilating soul, enrapt, transfused, 



Thyself earth's rosy star, and of the dawn 
Co-herald : wake, O wake and utter praise? 
Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth? 
Who filled thy countenance with rosy light? 
Who made thee parent of perpetual streams? 
And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad! 
Who called you forth from night and utter death, 
From dark and icy caverns called you forth, 
Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks, 



GLIMPSES OF NATURE. 



Dl 



Forever shattered and the same forever? 

"Who gave you your invulnerable life, 

Tourstrength, your speed, your fury and your joy, 

Unceasing thunder and eternal foam? 

And who commanded (and the silence came) , 

Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest? 

Ye ice-falls ! ye that from the mountain's brow 
Adown enormous ravines slope amain, — 
Torrents, methinks, that heard a might}' voice, 
And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge,— 
Motionless torrents ! silent cataracts ! 
Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven 
Beneath the keen, full moon? Who bade the sun 
Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flowers 
Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet — 
God! let the torrents, like a shout of nations, 
Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, God! 
God ! Sing, ye meadow streams, with gladsome voice ! 
Ye pine groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds ! 
And they, too, have a voice, yon piles of snow. 
And in their perilous fall shall thunder. God ! 

Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost ! 



Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest! 
Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain storm! 
Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds! 
Ye signs and wonders of the elements ! 
Utter forth God, and fill the hills with praise ! 

Thou, too. hoar Mount! with thy sky-pointing peaks, 
Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard, 
Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene 
Into the depth of clouds, that veil thy breast, — 
Thou too again, stupendous uiountain ! thou 
That as I raise my head, a while bowed low 
In adoration, upward from thy base 
Slow traveling with dim eyes suffused with tears, 
Solemnly seemest. like a vapory cloud. 
To rise before me. — Rise, oh, ever rise, 
Rise like a cloud of incense from the earth ! 
Thou kingly spirit, throned among the hills, 
Thou dread ambassador from earth to heaven, 
Great hierarch ! tell thou the silent sky, 
And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun, 
Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God. 

Samuel Taylor Coleridge. 



TO THE DAISY. 




little here to do or see 
Of things that in the great world be, 
Daisy! again I talk to thee, 

For thou art worthy, 
Thou unassuming commonplace 
Of Nature, with that homely face, 
And yet with something of a grace 

Which love makes for thee ! 

Oft on the dappled turf at ease 

I sit, and play with similes, 

Loose types of things through all degrees, 

Thoughts of thy raising : 
And many a fond and idle name 
I give to thee, for praise or blame, 
As is the humor of the game, 

While I am gazing. 

A nun demure, of lowly port; 

Or sprightly maiden, of love's court, 

In thy simplicity the sport 

Of all temptations ; 
A queen in crown of rubies drest; 
A starveling in a scanty vest; 
Are all, as seems to suit thee best, 

Thy appellations. 



A little cyclops, with one eye 
Staring to threaten and defy, 
That thought comes next, — and instantly 

The freak is over, 
The shape will vanish, — and behold 
A silver shield with boss of gold, 
That spreads itself, some faery bold 

In fight to cover! 

I see thee glitteriug from afar, — 
And then thou art a pretty star ; 
Not quite so fair as many are 

In heaven above thee ! 
Yet like a star, with glittering crest, 
Self-poised in air thou seem'st to rest; — 
May peace come never to his nest, 

Who shall reprove thee ! 

Bright Flower! for by that name at last, 
When all my reveries are past, 
I call thee, and to that cleave fast, 

Sweet, silent creature ! 
That breath'st with me in sun and air 
Do thou, as thou art wont, repair 
My heart with gladness, and a share 

Of thy meek nature ! 

William Wordsworth. 



What shall we say of flowers — those flaming banners of the vegetable world, 
march in such various and splendid triumph before the coming of its fruits ? 



which 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



DAWN. 



MfcEE night was dark, though sometimes a faint star 
ills A little while a little space made bright. 
*4K Dark was the night, and like an iron bar 
il Lay heavy on the land : till o'er the sea 
Slowly, within the East, there grew a light 
Which half was starlight, and half seemed to be 
The herald, of a greater. The pale white 
Turned slowly to pale rose, and up the height 
Of heaven slowly climbed. The gray sea grew 
Rose-colored like the sky. A white gull flew 
Straight toward the utmost boundary of the East 
Where slowly the rose gathered aid increased. 
It was as on the opening of a door 



By one who in his hand a lamp doth hold, 
(Its flame yet hidden by the garment's fold) — 
The still air moves, the wide room is less dim. 

More bright the East became, the ocean turned 
Dark and more dark against the brightening sky — 
Sharper against the sky the long sea line ; 
The hollows of the breakers on the shore 
Were green like leaves whereon no sun doth shine, 
Though white the outer branches of the tree. 
From rose to red the level heaven burned ; 
Then sudden, as if a sword fell from on high, 
A blade of gold flashed on the ocean's rim. 

Richard Watson Gilder. 




THE BARN OWL. 



5HILE moonlight, silvering all the walls, 

*l Through every mouldering crevice falls, 

Tipping with white his powdery plume, 

As shades or shifts the changing gloom ; 

The Owl that, watchine; in the barn, 



Sees the mouse creeping in the corn, 
Sits still, and shuts his round blue eyes 
As if he slept, — until he spies 
The little beast within his stretchy- 
Then starts, and seizes on the wretch! 

Samuel Butler. 



GLIMPSES OF NATURE. 



J>3 




94 



THE ROYAL GALLERY, 



BEFORE THE RAIN. 



•^ 



PpE. knew it would rain, for all the morn 
llHi A spirit on slender ropes of mist 
jf-V 9 Was lowering its golden buckets down 
IT Into the vapory amethyst 

Of marshes and swamps and dismal fens — 
Scooping the dew that lay in the flowers, 



Dipping the jewels out of the sea, 
To sprinkle them over the land in showers. 

We knew it would rain, for the poplars showed 
The white of their leaves ; the amber grain 

Shrunk in the wind , and the lightning now 
Is tangled in tremulous skeins of rain. 

Thomas Bailey Aldrich. 




AFTER THE RAIN. 



StTpTHE rain has ceased, and in my room 
'sf^i. The sunshine pours an airy flood ; 

fAnd on the church's dizzy vane 
The ancient Cross is bathed in blood. 

From out the dripping ivy-leaves, 
Antiquely carven, gray and high. 



A dormer, facing westward, looks 
Upon the village like an eye : 

And now it glimmers in the suu, 
A square of gold, a disk, a speck : 

And in the belfry sits a dove 
With purple ripples on her neck. 

Thomas Bailey Aldrich. 



NIGHT. 



MAJESTIC Night! 
Nature's great ancestor! day's elder-born, 
And fated to survive the transient sim ! 
By mortals and immortals seen with awe! 
A starry crown thy raven brow adorns, 
? An azure zone thy waist; clouds, in heaven's 
1 loom 

Wrought through varieties of shape and shade, 



In ample folds of drapery divine, 
Thy flowing mantle form ; and heaven throughout 
Voluminously pour thy pompous train. 
Thy gloomy grandeurs (Nature's most august, 
Inspiring aspect!) claim a grateful verse; 
And, like a sable curtain starred with gold, 
Drawn o'er my labors past, shall close the scene. 
Edward Young. 



GLIMPSES OF NATURE. 



SUMMER. 



^KROtnSTD this lovely valley rise 
llll The purple hills of Paradise. 
*}$C Oh, softly on yon hanks of haze 
Jl Her rosy face the summer lays ; 

Becalmed along the azure sky 
The argosies of cloudland lie, 
"Whose shores with many a shining rift 
Far-off their pearl-white peaks uplift. 



I watch the mowers as they go 

Through the tall grass, a white-sleeved row; 
With even stroke their scythes they swing, 
Iu tune their merry whetstones ring. 

Behind, the nimble youngsters run, 

And toss the thick swaths in the sun. 
The cattle graze ; while warm and still 
Slopes the broad pasture, basks the hill, 




" I seek the coolest sheltered s 
Just where the field and forest i 



Through all the long midsummer day 
The meadow sides are sweet with hay. 

I seek the coolest sheltered seat. 

Just where the field and forest meet,— 
Where grow the pine-trees, tall and bland, 
The ancient oaks, austere and grand. 

And fringy roots and pebbles fret 

The ripples of the rivulet. 



And bright, when summer breezes break, 
The green wheat crinkles like a lake. 

The butterfly and bumble-bee 
Come to the pleasant woods with me; 
Quickly before. me runs the quail, 
Her chickens skulk behind the rail; 
Ui^h up the lone wood-pigeon sits, 



t»C 



THE EOYAL GALLERY. 




And the woodpecker pecks and flits. . 
Sweet woodland music sinks and swells, 
The brooklet rings its tinkling bells. 

The swarming insects drone and hum, 

The partridge beats his throbbing drum, 
The squirrel leaps among the boughs, 
And chatters in his leafy house ; 

The oriole flashes by ; and look — 

Into the mirror of the brook, 



Where»the vain bluebird trims his coat*. 
Two tiny feathers fall and float. 

As silently, as tenderly, 

The down of peace descends on me. 

Oh, this is peace ! I have no need 

Of friend to talk, or book to read ; 
A dear companion here abides, 
Close to my thrilling heart he hides ; 

The holy silence is his voice : 

I lie, and listen, and rejoice. 

John Townsend Trowbkidge, 



DAT BREAKING. 



SEE, the dapple-grey coursers of the morn 
I Beat up the light with their bright silver hoofs, 
And chase it through the sky. 

John jMakston. 



GLIMPSES OF NATUKE. 



97 




THE MOUNT OF THE HOLY CROSS. 



38 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



TO THE NIGHTINGALE. 



m. 



S it fell upon a day 

«®fM In the merry month of May, 
JjjL Sitting in a pleasant shade 
™|* "Which a grove of myrtles made, 

Beasts did leap, and birds did sing, 

Trees did grow, and plants did spring; 

Everything did banish moan, 

Save the nightingale alone. 

She, poor bird, as all forlorn, 

Leaned her breast up-till a thorn; 

And there simg the doleful*st ditty 

That to hear it was great pity. 

Fie, fie, fie! now would she cry; 

Teru, teru, by-and-by ; 

That, to hear her so complain, 

Scarce I could from tears refrain; 

For her griefs, so lively shown, 

Made me think upon mine own. 

Ah! (thought I) thou mourn'st in vain; 

None takes pity on thy pain ; 

Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee ; 

Ruthless bears, they will not cheer thee ; 

King Pandion, he is dead; 

All thy friends are lapped in lead ; 

All thy fellow-birds do sing, 

Careless of thy sorrowing! 

Whilst as fickle Fortune smiled, 



Thou and I were both beguiled, 

Eveiy one that natters thee 

Is no friend in misery. 

Words are easy, like the wind ; 

Faithful friends are hard to find. 

Every man will be thy friend 

Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend;. 

But, if stores of crowns be scant, 

No man will supply thy want. 

If that one be prodigal, 

Bountiful they will him call; 

And, with such-like nattering, 

"Pity but he were a king. 1 ' 

If he be addict to vice, 

Quickly him they will entice ; 

But if Fortune once do frown, 

Then farewell his great renown : 

They that fawned on him before, 

Use his company no more. 

He that is thy friend indeed, 

He will help thee in fhy need ; 

H thou sorrow, he will weep, 

If thou wake, he cannot sleep. 

Thus, of every grief in heart, 

He with thee doth bear a part. 

These are certain signs to know 

Faithful friend from tialtering foe. 

Richard Baknfield, 



THE MOUNT OF THE HOLT CEOSS. 

piS wonderful peak of the Kocky Mountain Range is one of the most noted 
and remarkable mountains in the world. It is among the highest in Colorado,, 
^g^ being 14,176 feet high — one of the thirty-three peaks whose summits are 
jj 14,000 feet and upward above the sea. A tremendous chasm cleaves it on 
the eastern side nearly to the top, and right across this, perhaps three-fourths 
of the way up, is another, and these, filled with snow old as creation, form a 
perfect and most beautiful cross. It is one of the marked objects visible from 
Gray's and Pike's Peaks, and from a wide extent of country west of the dividing- 
range of the continent. 



Theee is a river in the ocean. In the severest droughts it never fails, and in the 
mightiest floods it never overflows. Its banks and its bottoms are of cold water, while its- 
current is of warm. The Gulf of Mexico is its fountain, and its mouth is the Arctic Seas. 
It is the Gulf Stream. There is in the world no other such majestic flow of waters. Its- 
current is more rapid than the Mississippi or the Amazon, and its volume more than a. 
thousand times sreatcr. 



GLIMPSES OF NATURE. 

THE HEATH-COCK. 



*9 



ipOD-MORROW to thy sable beak 
| And glossy plumage dark and sleek, 
Thy crimson moon and azure eye, 
Cock of the heath, so wildly shy : 



The rarest things, with wayward will, 
Beneath the covert hide them still; 
The rarest things to break of day 
Look shortly forth, and shrink away. 




I see thee slyly cowering through 
That wiry web of silvery dew, 
That twinkles in the morning air, 
Like casements of my lady fair. 
A maid there is in yonder tower, 
Who, peeping from her early bower, 
Half shows, like thee, her simple wile, 
Her braided hair and morning smile. 



A fleeting moment of delight 
I sunn'd me in her cheering sight; 
As short, I ween, the time will be 
That I shall parley hold with thee. 
Through Snowdon's mist red beams the day, 
The chirping herd -boy chants his lay ; 
The gnat-flies dance their sunny ring, — 
Thou art already on the wing. 

Joanna Baillie. 



There's rosemary, that's for remembrance; pray 
is pansies, that's for thoughts. 



you, love, remember: — and there 



100 



THE ROYAL GALLEBY. 



A JUNE DAY 



MO has not dream'd a world of bliss, 
I On a bright sunny noon like this, 
J Couch'd by his native brook's green maze, 
With comrade of his boyish days, 
While all around them seem'd to be 
Just as in joyous infancy? 



Through the tall fox-glove's crimson bloom, 
And gleaming of the scatter'd broom, 
Love you not, then, to list and hear 
The crackling of the gorse-flowers near, 
Pouring an orange-scented tide 
Of fragrance o'er the desert wide? 






Upon that heath, in birchen bower.' 



Who has not loved, at such an hour, 
"Upon that heath, in birchen bower, 
Lull'd in the poet's dreamy mood, 
It? wild and sunny solitude? 
While o'er the waste of purple ling 
You mark a sultry glimmering; 
Silence herself there seems to sleep, 
Wrapp'd in a slumber long and deep, 
Where slowly stray those lonely sheep, 



To hear the buzzard whimpering shrill, 
Hovering above you high and still? 
The twittering of the bird that dwells 
Amongst the heath's delicious bells? 
While round your bed, o'er fern and blade, 
Insects in green and gold array'd, 
The sun's gay tribes, have lightly stray'd; 
And sweeter sound their humming wings 
Than the proud minstrel's echoing strings. 
William Howitt. 



GLIMPSES OF NATURE. 



101 



THE SKY-LARK. 



ID of the wilderness, 

Blithesome and cnmberless, 
Sweet he thy matin o'er moorland and lea! 
J4. Emblem of happiness, 

Blest is thy dwelling-place — 
Oh, to abide in the desert with thee! 

Wild is thy lay and loud, 

Far in the downy cloud 
Love gives it energy, love gave it birth. 

Where, on thy dewy wing. 

Where art thou journeying? 
Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth. 



O'er fell and fountain sheen, 

O'er moor and mountain green, 
O'er the red streamer that heralds the day, 

Over the cloudlet dim, 

Over the rainbow's rim, 
Musical cherub, soar, singing, away ! 

Then, when the gloaming comes, 

Low in the heather blooms, 
Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be! 

Emblem of happiness. 

Blest is thy dwelling-place — 
Oli, to abide in the desert with thee! 

James Hogg. 



, r-^p . 




«f k.-S^^ 






- 


SI 51 




" That low plaint oft and oft repeating- 

To the coy mate that needs so much entreating." 




TO THE TURTLE-DOVE. 





EEP in the wood, thy voice I list, and love 
Thy soft complaining song, thy tender cooing 
O what a winning way thou hast of wooing ! 
Gentlest of all thy race — sweet Turtle-dove ! 
Thine is a note that doth not pass away, 
Like the light music of a summer's day : 
The merle may trill his richest song in vain— 



Scarce do we say, "List! for he pipes again;" 
But thou! that low plaint oft and oft repeating 
To the coy mate that needs so much entreating, 
Fillest the woods with a discursive song 
Of love, that sinketh deep, and resteth long; 
Hushing the voice of mirth, and staying folly 
And waking in the heart a gentle melancholy. 

D. Conway. 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



THE RAINBOW. 



S|HUS all day long the full distended clouds 
dfe Indulge their genial stores, and well-showered 
s$fC earth 

11 Is deep enriched with vegetable life ; 
Till, in the western sky, the downward sun 
Looks out, effulgent, from amid the flush 
Of broken clouds, gay-shifting to his beam. 
The rapid radiance instantaneous strikes 
The illumined mountain through the forest streams. 



Bestriding earth, the grand ethereal bow 
Shoots up immense ; and every hue unfolds, 
In fair proportion running from the red 
To where the violet fades into the sky. 
Here, awful Newton, the dissolving clouds 
Form, fronting on the sun, thy showery prism; 
And to the sage-instructed eye unfold 
The various twine of light, by thee disclosed, 
From the white mingling maze. Not so the boy; 




" The grand ethereal bow 

Shoots up immense." 



Shakes on the floods, and in a yellow mist, 
Far smoking o'er the interminable plain, 
In twinkling myriads lights the dewy gems. 
Moist, bright and green, the landscape laughs aroui 
Full swell the woods; their every music wakes. 
Mixed in wild concert with the warbling brooks 
Increased, the distant bleatings of the hills, 
The hollow lows responsive from the vales, 
"Whence blending all the sweetened zephyr springs. 
Meantime, refracted from yon eastern cloud, 



He wondering views the bright enchantment bend„ 
Delightful, o'er the radiant fields, and runs 
To catch the falling glory ; but amazed 
Beholds the amusive arch before him fly, 
Then vanish quite away. Still night succeeds, 
A softened shade, and saturated earth 
Awaits the morning beam, to give to light, 
Raised through ten thousand different plastic tubes, 
The balmy treasures of the former day. 

James Thomson. 



o^oo^s^c 



S aromatic plants bestow 
eSsfSk No spicy fragrance while they grow 
But, crushed or trodden to the ground, 
Diffuse their balmy sweets around. 



||| KNOW a bank where the wild thyme blows, 
Pa Where ox-lips and the nodding violet grows; 
Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, 
With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine. 



GLIMPSES OF NATURE. 



10 



TO A WATER-FOWL. 



||ggHITHEK, midst falling dew, 

MMl While glow the heavens with the last steps of 

J Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue 
4 Thy solitary way? 

Vainly the fowler's eye 
Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, 
As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, 
Thy figure floats along. 



All day thy wings have fanned, 
At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere, 
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, 

Though the dark night is near. 

And soon that toil shall end ; 
Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest,. 
And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall 
bend, 

Soon o'er thy sheltered nest. 




Seek'st thou the plashy brink 
Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, 
Or where the rocking billows rise and sink 

On the chafed ocean-side? 

There is a Power whose care 
Teaches thy way along that pathless coast - 
The desert and illimitable air — 

Lone wandering, but not lost. 



phcre." 



Thou 'rt gone, the abyss of heaven 
Hath swallowed up thy form; yet, on my heart 
Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given 

And shall not soon depart : 

He who, from zone to zone, 
Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, 
In the long way that 1 must tread alone, 

Will lead my steps aright. 

Willi A3i Cullen Bryant. 



VIOLETS. 



SLCOME, maids of honor! 

You doe bring 

In the spring, 
And wait upon her. 

She has virgins many 
Fresh and faire; 
Yet you are 

More sweet than any. 



Y'are the maiden posies, 

And so grae't, 

To be plac't 
'Fore damask roses. 

Yet though thus respected 

By and by 

Ye doe lie, 
Pooregirles! neglected. 

Robert Herrick. 



104 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



THE WIKD-FLOWER. 



fHOU lookest up with meek, confiding eye, 
Upon the clouded smile of April's face, 
Unharmed though winter stands uncertain hy, 
Eyeing with jealous glance each opening grace. 
Thou trustest wisely! in thy faith arrayed, 
More glorious thou than Israel's wisest king; 
Such fate was his whom men to death betrayed. 



As thine who hcar'st the timid voice of spring,, 
While other flowers still hide them from her call, 
Along the river's brink and meadows bare, 
Thee will I seek beside the stony wall, 
And in thy trust with childlike heart would chare, 
O'erjoyed that in thy early leaves I find, . 
A lesson taught by him who loved all human kind. 
Jones Vert. 




"^^ 



The merle and the 



|P|ROM under the boughs in the snow-clad wood 
|||P The merle and the mavis are peeping. 
X Alike secure from the mud and the flood, 
I Yet a silent Christmas keeping. 
Still happy are they, 
And their looks are gay, 
And they frisk it from bough to bough; 
Since berries bright red 
Hang over their head, 
A right goodly feast, I trow. 

There, tinder the boughs, in their wintry dress, 

Haps many a tender greeting ; 
.Blithe hearts have met, and the soft caress 
Hath told the delight of meeting. 

Though winter hath come 
To his woodland home, 



CHRISTMAS IN THE WOODS. 



There is mirth with old Christmas cheer, 

For 'neath the light snow 

Is the fruit-fraught bough, 
And each to his love is near. 

Yes! under the boughs, scarce seen, nestle they, 

Those children of song together, — 
As blissful by night, as joyous by day, 
'Mid the snows and the wintry weather. 
For they dream of spring, 
And the songs they'll sing, 
"When the flowers bloom again in the mead; 
And mindful are they 
Of those blossoms gay, 
Which have brought them to-day 
Such help in their time of need ! 

Harrison Weir. 



GLIMPSES OF NATURE. 



105- 




" The tawny Eagle =eats his callow brood 

High on the cliffy and feasts his young with blood. 



THE EAGLE. 



|U||HE tawny Eagle seats his callow brood 

wS^ High on the cliff, and feasts his young with 

•4- blood : 

f On Snowdon's rocks, or Orkney's wide domain, 

1 "Whose beetling cliffs o'erhang the western 
main, 
The royal bird his lonely kingdom forms, 

Amidst the gathering clouds and sullen storms ; 
Through the wide waste of air he darts his sight. 

And holds his sounding pinions poised for flight; 



With cruel eye premeditates the war, 

And marks his destined victim from afar r 
Descending in a whirlwind to the ground, 
His pinions like the rush of waters sound : 
The fairest of the fold he bears away, 
And to his nest compels the struggling prey ; 
He scorns the game by meaner hunters tore, 
And dips his talons in no vulgar gore. 

Anna Letitia Barbauld- 



106 



THE ROYAL GALLEEY. 



A RAM REFLECTED IN THE WATER. 



|p|ORTH we went, 

fils And down the vale, along the streamlet's edge, 

^f 9 Pursued our way, a broken company, 

? Mute or conversing, singly or in pairs. 

' Thus having reach'd a bridge that overarch'd 
The hasty rivulet, where it lay becalm'd 



On the green turf, with his imperial front 
Shaggy and bold, and wreathed horns superb, 
The breathing creature stood ; as beautiful, 
Beneath him, show'd his shadowy counterpart. 
Each had his glowing mountains, each his sky, 
And each seem'd centre of his own fair world; 




rid in the crystal flood 



In a deep pool, by happy chance we saw 
A twofold image : on a grassy bank 
A snow-white ram, and in the crystal flood 
Another and the same ! Most beautiful, 



Antipodes unconscious of each other, 

Yet, in partition, with their several spheres, 

Blended in perfect stillness, to our sight ! 

William Wordsworth. 



there is not lost 
One of earth's charms ; upon her bosom yet, 
After the flight of untold centuries, 
The freshness of her far beginning lies, 
And yet shall lie. 



f.QTWEET is the breath of morn, her rising sweet, 
gill With charm of earliest birds ; pleasant the sun, 
When first on this delightful land he spreads 
His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower, 
Glistering with dew. 



.IMPSES OF NATURE. 



107 



THE SQUIRREL-HUNT. 



;HEN, as a nimble squirrel from the wood, 
Ranging the hedges for his Albert-food, 
"efs" Sits partly on a bough his browne nuts cracking, 
* And from the shell the sweet white kernell 
J taking, 

Till (with then- crookes and bags) a sort of boyes 



The boyes runne dabling through thicke and thin : 
One tears his hose, another breakes his shin; 
This, torn and tatter'd, hath with much adoe 
Got by the bryers; and that hath lost his shoe; 
This drops his hat — that headlong falls for haste ; 
Another cryes behinde for being last: 




(To share with him) come with so great a noyse, 
That he is forced to leave a nut nigh broke, 
And for his life leape to a neighbour oake ; 
Thence to a beeche, thence to a row of ashes; 
Whilst through the quagmires, and red water plashes 



leape to a neighbour oake " 

With stickes and stones, and many a sounding halloo, 
The little foole, with no small sport, they follow; 
Whilst he from tree to tree, from spray to spray, 
Gets to the wood, and hides him in his dray. 

William Browne. 



It is computed that the swallow flies upward of sixty, the crow twenty-five, and 
the hawk forty-two miles an hour. The flight of the English eagle is six thousand 
feet in a minute. 



108 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 

SUMMER WOODS. 



LOVE at eventide to walk alone, 

Down narrow lanes, o'erhung with dewy thorn, 
Where, from the long grass underneath, the snail, 

Jet black, creeps out, and sprouts his timid horn. 



While in the juicy corn the hidden quail 
Cries, "Wet my foot;" and, hid as thouj 
born, 
The fairy-like and seldom-seen landrail 




love at eventide to walk alone.' 



I love to muse o'er meadows newly mown, 

Where withering grass perfumes the sultry air ; 

Where bees search round, with sad and weary drone, 
In vain, for flowers thatbloom'd but newly there ; 



Utters, ' ' Craik ! — craik ! ' ' like voices under ground, 
Right glad to meet the evening dewy veil, 
And see the light fade into gloom around. 

John Clare. 



H^pOTHING is better able to gratify the inherent passion of novelty than a 
«i||p garden ; for Nature is always renewing her variegated appearance. She is 
^ infinite in her productions, and the life of man may come to its close 
before he has seen half the pictures which she is able to display. 



GLIMPSES OF NATURE. 



ON A GOLDFINCH. 



gTME was when I was free as air, 
The thistle's downy seed my fare, 

My drink the morning dew ; 
I perch'd at will on every spray, 
My form genteel, my plumage gay, 

My strains forever new. 



For caught and eaged. and starved to death, 
In dying sighs my little breath 
Soon pass'd the wiry grate. 

Thanks, gentle swain, for all my woes, 
And thanks for this effectual close 
And cure of every ill ! 




1 The thistle's downy seed 



But gaudy plumage, sprightly strain, 
And form genteel, were all in vain, 
And of a transient date ; 



More cruelty could none express; 

And I. if you had shown me less, 

Had been your prisoner still. 

William Cowper. 



CHANGES IN NTATITKE. 



ifHREE astonishing changes present themselves to our view in the kingdom of 
Nature. The first is — when a small seed dies in the lap of earth, and 
rises again in the verdant and flowery splendor of a youthful tree. The 
next is — when, under a warm and feathery covering, life develops itself in 
an egg, and a winged bird breaks singing through the shell. The third 
is — when a creeping caterpillar is transformed into a butterfly, which, with glitter- 
ing and delicate wing, rocks itself upon the lovely flowers. 



110 



THE EOYAL GALLERY. 



MORNING SONG. 



?P ! quit thy bower ! late wears the hour, 
Long have the rooks cawed round the tower ; 
O'er flower and tree loud hums the bee, 
And the wild kid sports merrily. 
The sun is bright, the sky is clear, 
Wake, lady, wake! and hasten here. 

Up, maiden fair ! and bind thy hair, 
And rouse thee in the breezy air! 
The lulling stream that soothed thy dream 
Is dancing in the sunny beam. 



Waste not these hours, so fresh, so gay; 
Leave thy soft couch and haste away ! 

Up ! Time will tell the morning bell 
Its service-sound has chimed well; 
The aged crone keeps house alone, 
The reapers to the fields are gone. 
Lose not these hours, so cool, so gay : 
Lo! while thou sleep'st they haste away! 

Joanna Baillie. 




wmwm 

'■ Ascends the neighboring beech, there whisks his brush." 



THE SQUIRREL. 



J^lRAWN" from his refuge in some lonely elm, 
fkS That age or injury has hollow'd deep, 
Vffi? Where, on his bed of wool and matted leav< 
J4 He has outslept the winter, ventures forth, 
To frisk a while and bask in the warm sun, 
The Squirrel, flippant, pert, and full of play; 



He sees me, and at once, swift as a bird, 
Ascends the neighboring beech, there whisks his 

brush, 
And perks his ears, and stamps and cries aloud, 
With all the prettiness of feign'd alarm, 
And anger insignificantly fierce. 

William Cowpeb. 



GLIMPSES OF NATUKE. 

THE IVY GREEN. 



Ill 



PI, a dainty plant is the Ivy Green, 
That creepeth o'er ruins old ! 
Of right choice food are his meals, I ween, 

In his cell so lone and cold. 
The wall must be crumbled, the stone decayed, 
To pleasure his dainty whim; 
And the mouldering dust that years have made 
Is a merry meal for him. 

Creeping where no life is seen, 
A rare old plant is the Ivy Green. 

Fast he stealeth on, though he wears no wings, 

And a staunch old heart has he ; 
How closely he twineth, how tight he clings 

To his friend the huge Oak-tree ! 
And slyly he traileth along the ground. 

And his leaves he gently waves, 



As he joyously hugs and crawleth around 
The rich mould of dead men's graves. 
Creeping where grim death has been, 
A rare old plant is the Ivy Green. 

Whole ages have fled, and then- works decayed, 

And nations have scattered been ; 
But the stout old Ivy shall never fade 

From its hale and hearty green. 
The brave old plant, in its lonely days, 

Shall fatten upon the past; 
For the stateliest building man can raise 
Is the Ivy's food at last. 

Creeping on, where time has been, 
A rare old plant is the Ivy Green. 

Charles Dickens. 




• true she warp'd the moss to form her nest, 
And model'dit within with wool and clay." 



THE THRUSH'S NEST. 



a thick and spreading hawthorn bush, 
That overhung a mole-hill large and round, 
'•* I heard, from morn to morn, a merry Thrush 
I Sing hymns to sunrise, while I drank the 

1 sound 

With joy :— and often, an intruding guest, 

I watch'd her secret toils, from day to day,— 
How true she warp'd the moss to form her nest, 
And model'd it within with wool and clay. 



And by-and-by, like heath-bells gilt with dew, 
There lay her shining eggs, as bright as 
flowers, 

Ink-spotted-over shells of green and blue ; 
And there I witness'd, in the summer hours, 

A brood of Nature's minstrels chirp and fly, 
Glad as the sunshine and the laughing sky. 

John Clare 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 




And here he came, pierced by a fatal blow." 



THE DYING STAG. 



U»OW in a grassy dingle he was laid, 

ill With wild wood primroses hefreckled low. 

jrf; ^ Over his head the wanton shadows play'd 

Of a young olive, that her houghs so spread, 

As with her leaves she seem'd to crown his head. 

And here he came, pierced hy a fatal blow, 



As in a wood he walk'd, securely feeding; 
And feeling death swim in his endless bleeding, 
His heavy head his fainting strength exceeding, 
Bade farewell to the woods that round him wave, 
While tears from drooping flowers bedew his turfy 
grave. 

Giles Fletcher. 



STIGHT. 



lllGHT is the astronomer's accepted time; he goes to his delightful labors when 
H the busy world goes to its rest. A dark pall spreads over the resorts of active 
life; terrestrial objects, hill and valley, and rock and stream, and the abodes of 
men disappear; but the curtain is drawn up which concealed the heavenly hosts .- 
There they shine and there they move as they moved and shone to the eyes of 
Newton and Galileo, of Kepler and Copernicus, of Ptolemy and Hipparchus; 
yes, as they moved and shone when the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of 
God shouted for joy. All has changed on earth; but the glorious heavens remain 
unchanged. The plow passes over the site of mighty cities; the homes of powerful 
nations are desolate; the languages they spoke are forgotten: but the stars that 
shone for them are shining for us; the same eclipses run their steady cycle; the 
same equinoxes call out the flowers of spring, and send the husbandman to the 



GLIMPSES OF NATURE. 



113 



harvest; the sun pauses at either tropic as he did when his course began; and 
sun and moon, and planet and satellite, and star and constellation and galaxy, still 
bear witness to the power, the wisdom and the love which placed them in the heavens 
and upholds them there. 

Edward Everett. 

TO SENECA LAKE. 



thy fair bosom, silver lake, 
The -wild swan spreads his snowy sail, 
And round his breast the ripples break, 
As down he bears before the gale. 

On thy fair bosom, waveless stream, 
The dipping paddle echoes far, 

And flashes in the moonlight gleam, 
And bright reflects the polar star. 



How sweet, at set of sun, to view 
Thy golden mirror spreading wide, 

And see the mist of mantling blue 
Float round the distant mountain's side. 

At midnight hour, as shines the moon, 
A sheet of silver spreads below, 

And swift she cuts, at highest noon, 
Light clouds, like wreaths of purest snow. 




'And round his breast theripples break 
As down he bears before the gale." 



The waves along thy pebbly shore. 
As blows the north wind.' heave their foam, 

And curl around the dashing oar. 
As late the boatman hies him home. 



On thy fair bosom, silver lake ! 

Oh, I could ever sweep the oar, 
When early birds at morning wake, 

And evening tells us toil is o'er. 

James Gates Percival. 



to sto^oTtrvtT T^! T thC SU1 * Ke ' anC ' ,Mna = es t0 sh ™ wtot she is - I' "■ vain 

s c^rs: b ;; k - 8he break3 thtough ™* "• "— ~> - 



114 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 




" And the call of the pheasant 
Is frequent and pleasant." 



A WOODNOTE. 



|OME ye, come ye, to the green, green wood; 
• Loudly the blackbird is singing, 
? The squirrel is feasting on blossom and bud, 
And the cm-ling fern is springing : 

Here ye may sleep 

In the moss so deep. 
While the noon is so warm and so weary, 

And sweetly awake. 

As the sun through the brake 
Bids the fauvette and white-throat sing cheery. 

The quicken is tufted with blossom of snow, 

And is throwing its perfume around it; 
The wryneck replies to the cuckoo's halloo 
For joy that again she has found it; 
The jay's red breast 
Peeps over her nest, 
In the midst of the crab-blossoms blushing; 
And the call of the pheasant 
Is frequent and pleasant, 
When all other calls are hushing. 

William Howitt. 




"Come ye, come ye, to the green, green wood; 
Loudly the blackbird is singing." 



Nature imitates herself. A grain thrown into good ground brino-s forth fruit ; a 
principle thrown into a good mind brings forth fruit. Everything is created and conducted 
by the same Master ; the root, the branch, the fruits; — the principles, the consequences. 



GLIMPSES OF NATURE. 

LAMBS AT PLAT. 



115 



?AY, ye that know, ye who have felt and seen 
' Spring's morning smiles and soul-enlivening 
green, 
Say, did you give the thrilling transport way? 
Did your eye brighten when young lambs at play 
Leap'd o'er your path with animated pride, 
Or grazed in merry clusters by your side? 
Ye who can smile, to wisdom no disgrace, 
At the arch meaning of a kitten's face ; 



A thousand wily antics mark their stay, 
A startling crowd, impatient of delay. i 

Like the fond dove, from fearful prison freed, 
Each seems to say. " Come, let us tiy our speed!" 
Away they scour, impetuous, ardent, strong, 
The green turf trembling as they bound along ; 
Adown the slope, then up the hillock climb, 
Where every molehill is a bank of thyme ; 
There panting stop : yet scarcely can refrain, 




~****'*gp4 



"Did your eve brighten when vnnnsr lamb? at play 
Leap'd o'er "your path with animated pride?" 



If spotless Innocence, and infant mirth, 
Excite to praise, or give reflection birth, 
In shades like these pursue your favorite joy, 
'Mid Nature's revels, sports that never cloy. 
A few begin a short but vigorous race, 
And indolence abash'd soon flies the place ; 
Then challenged forth, see thither, one by one, 
From every side assembling playmates run ; 



A bird, a leaf, will set them off again: 
Or, if a gale with strength unusual blow, 
Scattering the wild-briar roses into snow, 
Their little limbs increasing efforts try, 
Like the torn flower the fair assemblage fly. 
Ah, fallen rose! sad emblem of their doom; 
Frail as thyself, they perish while they bloom ! 

Robert Bloojifield. 



[E various productions of Nature were not made for us to tread upon, nor 
only to feed our eyes with their grateful variety, or to bring a sweet 
odor to us; but there is a more internal beauty in them for our minds 
•W» to prey upon, did we but penetrate beyond the surface of these things 
into their hidden properties. 



116 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



THE HAEE. 



|IS instinct that directs the jealous ITare 

To choose her soft abode. With steps reversed 
She forms the doubling maze; then, ere the 

morn 
Peeps through the clouds, leaps to her close 
recess. 



Plot their destruction ; or, perchance in hopes 
Of plenteous forage, near the ranker mead 
Or matted grass, wary and close they sit. 
When spring shines forth, season of love and joy, 
In the moist marsh, 'mong bed of rushes hid, 
They cool their boiling blood. When summer sun 




Peeps through the clouds 

As wandering shepherds on th' Arabian plains 
No settled residence observe, but shift 
Their moving camp; now, on some cooler hill, 
With cedars crowned, court the refreshing breeze; 
And then below, where trickling streams distil 
From some precarious source, their thirst allay, 
And feed their thirsting flocks : so the wise hares 
Oft quit their seats, lest some more curious eye 
Should mark then haunts, and by dark treacherous 
wiles 



Bake the cleft earth, to thick, wide-spreading fields 
Of corn full-grown, they lead their helpless young: 
But when autumnal torrents and fierce rains 
Deluge the vale, in the dry crumbling bank 
Their forms they delve, and cautiously avoid 
The dripping covert. Yet, when winter's cold 
Their limbs benumbs, thither with speed return'd. 
In the long grass they skulk, or shrinking creep 
Among the wither'd leaves; thus changing still, 
As fancy prompts them, or as food invites. 

William Somervillb 




TO A SKYLARK. 



to thee, blithe spirit! 
Bird thou never wert, 
That from heaven, or near it, 
Pourest thy full heart 
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. 



Higher still and higher. 

From the earth thou springest 
Like a cloud of fire; 

The blue deep thou wingest, 
And singing still dost soar, and soaring, ever singest. 









There's nae mair lands to tyne, yny dearest 

dnd nae mair lives toj/i'e: —-■ ' 
Though a man think sair to Hue nae rnair, 
There's but one day to die. -=— W% 







Our king coons ocoer the sea's Cuater, 
Qrid. / in prison sair; 
it /'/' ' oji'/i out the morn's morrow, § 
(2n d ye// see me nae mair. /f.C.S. 



Tor a* things come and a ' a 
What needs ye rendj/our 
But kiss me titl the morn's mcrrocii 



Then Tit kissje nae mair 



fas jane 
Ja/r ? 




/ands are /ost and /(fe's /osing, 

Grid what ojere thcutogie ? 
Tu 'mom/ a man jy ides a7//ie carij. 
Sat nae man e/se aides ye. 




GLIMPSES OF NATUHE. 117 

In the golden lightning Sound of vernal showers 

Of the sunken sun, On the twinkling grass, 

O'er which clouds are brightening, Rain-awakened flowers,— 

Thou dost float and run, All that ever was 

Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun. Joyous and clear and fresh, thy music doth surpass. 

Teach us, sprite or bird. 
The pale, purple even ^^ gweet h(s are 

Melts around thy fl lg ht ^ hemd 

Like a star of heaven , praise Qf ^ ^ ^ 

In the broad daylight „*_... That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine. 

Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight. l 

Chorus hymeneal, 
Keen as are the arrows Or triumphal chant, 

Of that silver sphere, Matched with thine would he all 

Whose intense lamp narrows But an empty vaunt, — 

In the white dawn clear, A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want 

Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there. 

What objects are the fountains 

All the earth and air 0f th 3 r ha PP^ strain? 

With thv voice is loud, What fields of waves or mountains? 

As, when night is bare, ' What shapes of sky or plain? 

From one lonely cloud What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain? 
The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is over- ^ ^ ^^ keen joyance 

flowed - Languor cannot be : 

Shadow of annoyance 
What thou art we know not : Never came Qear ^ . 

What is most like thee? Thou ^^ but ne . er knew love , g gad ^ 

From rainbow-clouds there flow not 
Drops so bright to see, Waking or asleep, 

As from thy presence showers a rain of melody. Thou of death must deem 

Things more true and deep 
Like a poet hidden Thau we mortals dream, 

In the light of thought. Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream^ 

Singing hvmns unbidden. 
Till the world is wrought AN e lo ° k before and atteT ' 

To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not : n And P me f or what 1S not : 

Our sincerest laughter 

With some pain is fraught; 
Likr - high-born maiden 0ur sweetest songs are those that tell of gaddest 

In a palace tower, thought. 

Soothing her love-ladeu 
Soul in secret hour Yet if we could scorn 

With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower : Hate and pride and fear; 

If we were things born 
Like a glow-worm golden, Not to shed a tear, 

In a dell of dew, I know not how thy joy we ever should come near. 

Scattering unbeholden ^ ^ „ 

Its aerial hue B '£ r *™ f measu * es 

Amongst the flowers and grass which screen it from „ " d ^S ntful sonnd, 

the view Better than all treasures 

That in books are found, 

Like a rose embowered Thy SkiU t0 P ° et W6re ' th0U SCOrner of the S round! 

In its own green leaves, Teach me half the gladness 

By warm winds deflowered, That thy brain must knows 

Till the scent it gives Such harmonious madness 

Makes faint with too much sweet those heavy-winggd From thy lips would flow, 

thieves. The world should listen then, as I am listening now. 

Percy Bysshe Shelley. 



118 



THE ROYAL GALLERY- 

TO A WILD DEER. 



SIT couch of repose for a pilgrim like thee ! 
Sgf Magnificent prison inclosing the free ! 

With rock-wall encircled — with precipice 

crown 'd — 
Which, awoke by the sun, thou canst clear at a 
bound. 
Mid the fern and the heatl;^ -1 , kind Nature doth keep 
One bright spot of green for her favorite's sleep ; 



Elate on the fern-branch the grasshopper sings, 
And away in the midst of his roundelay springs; 
■Mid the flowers of the heath, not more bright than 

himself, 
The wild-bee is busy, a musical elf — 
Then starts from his labor, unwearied and gay, 
And, circling his antlers, booms far, far away. 
While high up the mountains, in silence remote, 




; With wide-spreading antlers, a guard to his breast, 
There lies the wild creature, e'en stately in rest!" 



And close to that covert, as clear as the skies 
When their blue depths are cloudless, a little lake lies, 
Where the creature at rest can his image behold, 
Looking up through the radiance, as bright and as 

bold! 
How lonesome! how wild! yetthe wildness is rife 
With the stir of enjoyment — the spirit of life. 
The glad fish leaps up in the heart of the lake, 
Whose depths, at the sullen plunge, sullenly quake! 



The cuckoo unseen is repeating his note ; 

The mellowing echo, on watch in the skies, 

Like a voice from the loftier climate replies. 

With wide-spreading antlers, a guard to his breast,. 

There lies the wild creature, e'en stately in rest! 

'Mid the grandeur of Nature, composed and serene, 

And proud in his heart of the mountainous scene, 

He lifts his calm eye to the eagle and raven, 

At noon sinking down on smooth wings to their haven, 



GLTMPSES OF NATURE. 



119 



As if in his soul the bold animal smiled 

To his Mends of the sky, the joint-heirs of the wild. 

Yes! fierce looks thy nature, e'en hush'd in repose — 

In the depths of thy desert regardless of foes, 

Thy bold antlers call on the hunter afar, 

With a haughty defiance to come to the war ! 

No outrage is war to a creature like thee ! 

The bugle-horn fills thy wild spirit with glee. 

As thou barest thy neck on the wings of the wind, 

And the laggardly gaze-hound is toiling behind. 

In the beams of thy forehead that glitter with death- 

In feet that draw power from the touch of the heath- 



In the wide-raging torrent that lends thee its roar — 
In the cliff that, once trod, must be trodden no more- 
Thy trust, 'mid the dangers that threaten thy reign ! 
But what if the stag on the mountain be slain'/ 
On the brink of the rock — lo ! he standeth at bay, 
Like a victor that falls at the close of the day : 
While hunter and hound in their terror retreat 
From the death that is spurn'd from his furious 

feet; 
And his last cry of anger comes back from the 

skies, 
As Nature's fierce son in the wilderness dies. 

John Wilson (Christopher North). 




" Th' assembled chats 

Wave high the tremulous wing, and with shrill notes, 
But clear and pleasant, cheer th' extensive heath." 



THE HEATH. 



!||liERE the furze, 

PfP» Enrich'd among its spines with golden flowers, 
f^ Scents the keen air; while all its thorny groups, 
J-l Wide scatter'd o'er the waste, are full oMife; 
For, midst its yellow bloom, th' assembled chats 
Wave high the tremulous wing, and with shrill notes, 
But clear and pleasant, cheer th' extensive heath. 
Linnets in numerous flocks frequent it too ; 
And bashful, hiding in the scenes remote 
From his congeners (they who make the woods 
And the thick copses echo to their song) , 



The stonechat makes his domicile: and while 
His patient mate with downy bosom warms 
Their future nestlings, he his love-lay sings. 
Loud to the shaggy wild. The Erica here, 
That o'er the Caledonian hills sublime 
Spreads its dark mantle (where the bees delight 
To seek their purest honey), flourishes, 
Sometimes with bells like amethysts, and then 
Paler, and shaded like the maiden's cheek 
With gradual blushes ; other while as white 
As rime that hangs upon the frozen spray. 

Charlotte Smith. 



|HE very soul seems to be refreshed on the bare recollection of the pleasure 
which the senses receive in contemplating, on a tine vernal morning, the 
charms of the pink, the violet, the rose, the honey-suckle, the hyacinth, the 
tulip, and a thousand other flowers, in every variety of figure, scent, and 
hue; for Nature is no less remarkable for the accuracy and beauty of her 
works than for variety and profusion. 



120 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



THE SWALLOW 



gorse is yellow on the heath, 

The banks with speedwell flowers are gay. 
The oaks are budding; and beneath, 
The hawthorn soon will bear the wreath, 

The silver wreath of May. 



The welcome guest of settled spring, 

The Swallow too is come at last; 
Just at sun-set, when thrushes sing, 
I saw her dash with rapid wing, 
And hail'd her as she pass'd. 

Come, summer visitant, attach 

To my reed-roof your nest of clay; 
And let my ear your music catch, 
Low twittering underneath the thatch, 
At the grey dawn of day. 

As fables tell, an Indian sage 

The Hindostani woods among, 
Could, in his distant hermitage, 
As if 'twere marked in written page, 
Translate the wild bird's song. 



I wish I did his power 

That I might learn, fleet bird, from thee, 
What our vain systems only guess, 

And know from what wild wilderness 
You came across the sea. 

I would a little while restrain 

Your rapid wing, that I might hear 
"Whether on clouds that bring the rain 
You sail'd above the western main, 
The wind your charioteer. 

In Afric, does the sultry gale 

Through spicy bower and palmy grove 
Bear the repeated cuckoo's tale? 
Dwells there a time the wandering rail, 

Or the itinerant dove? 

Were you in Asia? O relate 
If there your fabled sister's woes 

She seemed in sorrow to narrate ; 

Or sings she but to celebrate 
Her nuptials with the rose? 



I would inquire how, journeying long 
The vast and pathless ocean o'er, 

You ply again those pinions strong, 

And come to build anew among 
The scenes you left before? 

But if, as colder breezes blow, 

Prophetic of the waning year, 
You hide, though none know when or how, 
In the cliff's excavated brow, 

And linger torpid here; 

Thus lost to life, what favoring dream 

Bids you to happier hours awake, 
And tells that, dancing on the beam, 
The light gnat hovers o'er the stream, 
The May-fly on the lake? 




spring, 

Or if, by instinct taught to know 

Approaching dearth of insect food, 
To isles and willowy aits you go, 
And, crowding on the pliant bough 
Sink in the dimpling flood ; 

How learn ye, while the cold waves boom 

Your deep and oozy couch above, 
The time when flowers of promise bloom, 
And call you from your transient tomb, 
To light, and life, and love? 

Alas ! how little can be known, 

Her sacred veil where Nature draws ; 

Let baffled Science humbly own 

Her mysteries, understood alone 
By Him who gives her laws. 

Charlotte Smith. 



heart is awed within me when I think 
Of the great miracle that still goes on 
In silence round me — the perpetual wor^ 
Of Thy creation, finished, yet renewed 
Forever. Written on Thy works I read 
The lesson of Thy own eternity. 



|i||0! all grow old and die — but, see again! 
Df* How on the faltering footsteps of decay 
Youth presses — ever gay and beautiful youth 
In all its beautiful forms. These lofty trees 
Wave not less proudly than their ancestors 
Moulder beneath them. 



GLIMPSES OF NATUEE. 



121 



THE SIEKRAS. 



«|I|flKE fragments of an uncompleted world, 
■Sffwjij! From bleak Alaska, bound in ice and spray, 

r s ? To where the peaks of Darien lie curled 
In clouds, the broken lands loom bold aud gray; 
The seamen nearing S- i Francisco Bay 
Forget th3 compass here; with sturdy hand 
They seize the wheel, look up, then bravely lay 
The ship to shore by rugged peaks that stand 
The stern and proud patrician fathers of the land. 

They stand white stairs of heaven — stand a line 
Of lifting, endless, and eternal white; 
They look upon the far and Mashing brine, 
Upon the boundless plains, the broken height 
Of Kamiakin's battlements. The flight 
Of time is underneath their untopped towers ; 
They seem to push aside the moon at night, 
To jostle and to loose the stars. The flowers 
Of heaven fall about their brows in shining showers. 



They stand a line of lifted snowy isles, 
High held above a tossed and tumbled sea, — 
A sea of wood in wild unmeasured miles ; 
White pyramids of Faitb where man is free ; 
White monuments of Hope that yet shall he 
The mounts of matchless and immortal song. 
I look far down the hollow days ; I see 
The bearded prophets, simple-soul'd and strong, 
That strike the sounding harp and thrill the heeding 
throng. 

Serene and satisfied ! supreme ! as lone 
As God, they loom like God's archangels churl'd : 
They look as cold as kings upon a throne ; 
The mantling wings of night are crush'd and curl'd 
As feathers curl. The elements are hurl'd 
From off their bosoms, and are bidden go, 
Like evil spirits, to an under- world ; 
They stretch from Cariboo to Mexico, 
A line of battle-tents in everlasting snow. 

Joaquin Miller. 




SNOW-FLAKES. 



of the bosom of the Air, • 
s Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken, 
/ YT' Over the woodlands brown and bare. 
Jl Over the harvest-fields forsaken. 
Silent and soft and slow 
Descends the snow. 

Even as our cloudy fancies take 

Suddenly shape in some divine expression, 
Even as the troubled heart doth make 



In the white countenance confession. 
The troubled sky reveals 
The grief it feels. 

This is the poem of the air, 

Slowly in silent syllables recorded ; 
This is the secret of despair, 
Long in its clou Ij bosom hoarded, 
Now whispered and revealed 
To wood and field. 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 



122 



THE EOYAL GALLERY. 



THE DOG AND THE WATER-LILY. 



|HE noon was shady, and soft airs 
to Swept Ouse's silent tide, 

When, 'scaped from literary cares, 
I wander*d by its side. 

My spaniel, prettiest of the race, 

And high in pedigree, 
(Two nymphs adorn'd with every grace 

That spaniel found for me). 



And puzzling set his puppy brains 
To comprehend the case. 

But, with a chirrup clear and strong 

Dispersing all his dream, 
I thence withdrew, and follow'd long 

The windings of the stream. 

My ramble ended, I return'd; 
Beau, trotting far before, 




: saw him, with that lily cropp'd 



Now wanton'd, lost in flags and reeds, 

Now starting into sight, 
Pursued the swallow o'er the meads, 

With scarce a slower flight. 

It was the time when Ouse display'd 

Her lilies newly blown ; 
Their beauties I intent survey'd 

And one I wish'd my own. 

With cane extended far, I sought 

To steer it close to land : 
But still the prize, though nearly caught, 

Escaped my eager hand. 

Beau mark'd my unsuccessful pains 
With fix'd considerate face, 



The floating wreath again discern'd, 
And pluuging left the shore. 

I saw him, with that lily cropp'd, 

Impatient swim to meet 
My quick approach, and soon he dropp'd 

The treasure at my feet. 

Charm'd with the sight, " The world," I cried, 

" Shall hear of this thy deed : 
My dog shall mortify the pride 

Of man's superior breed : 

"But chief myself I will enjoin, 

Awake at duty's call, 
To show a love as prompt as thine 

To Him who gives me all." 

William Cowper. 



It is with flowers as with moral qualities — the bright are sometimes poison- 
ous, but,- I believe, never the sweet. 



GLIMPSES OF NATURE. 



PLANTING THE APPLE-TREE. 



fOME, let us plant the apple-tree. 
Cleave the tough greensward with the spade: 
Wide let its hollow bed be made ; 
There gently lay the roots, and there 
Sift the dark mould with kindly care, 

And press it o'er them tenderly, 
As round the sleeping infant's feet 
We softly fold the cradle sheet; 
So plant we the apple-tree. 



A world of blossoms for the bee, 
Flowers for the sick girl's silent room, 
For the glad infant sprigs of bloom, 

We plant with the apple-tree. 

What plant we in this apple-tree? 
Fruits that shall swell in sunny June, 
And redden in the August noon, 
And drop, when gentle airs come by, 




What plant we in this apple-tree? 
Buds, which the breath of summer days 
Shall lengthen into leafy sprays ; 
Boughs where the thrush with crimson breast 
Shall haunt, and sing, and hide her nest; 

We plant, upon the sunny lea, 
A shadow for the noontide hour, 
A shelter from the summer shower, 

When we plant the apple-tree. 

What plant we in this apple-tree? 
Sweets for a hundred flowery springs 
To load the May-wind's restless wings, 
When, from the orchard row, he pours 
Its fragrance through our open doors; 



thrush, with crimson breast, 
g, and hide her nest." 

That fan the blue September sky, 

While children come, with cries of glee, 
And seek them where the fragrant grass 
Betrays their bed to those who pass, 
At the foot of the apple-tree. 

And when, above this apple-tree, 
The winter stars are quivering bright, 
And winds go howling through the night, 
Girls, whose young eyes o'erflow with mirth, 
Shall peel its fruit by cottage hearth, 

And guests in prouder homes shall see, 
Heaped with the grape of Cintra's vine 

And golden orange of the Line, 

The fruit of the apple-tree. 



124 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



The fruitage of this apple-tree 
Winds and our flag of stripe and star 
Shall hear to coasts that lie afar, 
Where men shall wonder at the view, 
And ask in what fair groves they grew, 

And sojourners heyond the sea 
Shall think of childhood's careless day 
And long, long hours of summer play, 

In the shade of the apple-tree. 



And time shall waste this apple-tree. 
O, when its aged branches throw 
Thin shadows on the ground below, 
Shall fraud and force and irou will 
Oppress the weak and helpless still? 

What shall the tasks of mercy be, 
Amid the toils, the strifes, the tears 
Of those who live when length of years 

Is wasting this apple-tree? 




" Shall think of childhood's careless day, 
And long-, long hours of summer play, 
In the sfiade o~f the apple-tree." 



Each year shall give this apple-tree 
A broader flush of roseate bloom, 
A deeper maze of verdurous gloom, 
And loosen, when the frost-clouds lower, 
The crisp brown leaves in thicker shower. 

The years shall come and pass, but we 
Shall hear no longer, where we lie. 
The summer's songs, the autumn's sigh, 

In the boughs of the apple-tree. 



"Who planted this old apple-tree?" 
The children of that distant day 
Thus to some aged man shall say; 
And, gazing on its mossy stem, 
The gray -haired man shall answer them : 

" A poet of the land was he, 
Born in the rude but good old times ; 
'T is said he made some quaint old rhymes 

On planting the apple-tree." 

William Cullen Bryant. 



THE DAISY. 



fHERE is a flower, a little flower 
I With silver crest and golden eye. 
v That welcomes every changing hour, 
And weathers every sky. 

The prouder beauties of the field 
In gay but quick succession shine ; 

Race after race their honors yield, 
Thev flourish and decline. 



But this small flower, to Nature dear, 
While moons and stars their courses run, 

Inwreathes the circle of the year. 
Companion of the sun. 

It smiles upon the lap of May, 
To sultry August spreads its charm, 

Lights pale October on his way, 
And twines December's arm. 



GLIMPSES OF NATUKE. 



125 



The purple heath and golden broom 
On moory mountains catch the gale; 

O'er lawns the lily sheds perfume, 
The violet in the vale. 

But this bold floweret climbs the hill, 
Hides in the forest, haunts the glen, 

Plays on the margin of the rill, 
Peeps round the fox's den. 



The lambkin crops its crimson gem ; 

The wild bee murmurs on its breast* 
The blue-fly beuds its pensile stem 

Light o'er the skylark's nest. 

Tis Flora's page, — in eveiy place , 

In every season, fresh and fair; 
It opens with perennial grace, 
And blossoms everywhere. 




'T is Flora's page— in every place. 
In every season, fresh and fair.' 



Within the garden's cultured round 
It shares the sweet carnation's bed ; 

And blooms on consecrated ground 
In honor of the dead. 



On waste and woodland, rock and plain, 
Its humble buds unheeded rise ; 

The rose has but a summer reign ; 
The daisy never dies ! 

James Montgomery. 



The sense of beauty in Nature, even among cultured people, is less often met with 
than other mental endowments. 



THE ROYAL GALLEEY. 

THE ROBIN. 



!EE yon Robin on the spray; 

I Look ye ! how his tiny form 
Swells, as when his merry lay 
Gushes forth amid the storm. 



Yet from out the darkness dreary 
Cometh still that cheerful note ; 
Praiseful aye, and never weary, 
Is that little warbling throat. 




" Though the snow is falling fast, 
Specking o'er his coat with white.' 



Though the snow is falling fast, 
Specking o'er his coat with white - 
Though loud roars the chilly blast, 
And the evening's lost in night, — 



Thank him for his lesson's sake, 
Thank God's gentle minstrel there, 
Who, when storms make others quake 
Sings of days that brighter were. 

Harrison Weir. 



o>**=^=><^o 



fJTHER always kept a flower in a glass on his writing-table; and when he was 
waging his great public controversy with Eckins he kept a flower in his hand. 
Lord Bacon has a beautiful passage about flowers. As to Shakespeare, he is 
a perfect Alpine valley — he is full of flowers; they spring, and blossom, and 
wave in every cleft of his mind. Even Milton, cold, serene, and stately as he is, 
breaks forth into exquisite gushes of tenderness and fancy when he marshals the 
.flowers* 






GLIMPSES OF NATURE. 



127 




'And birds bit brooding in the s 



128 



THE ROYAL GALLERY, 



SPUING AND "WINTER. 



«HEN" daisies pied, and violets blue, 
And lady-smocks all silver-white, 
And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue, 
Do paint the meadows with delight, 
The cuckoo then, on every tree, 
Mocks married men, for thus sings he, 

Cuckoo; 
Cuckoo, cuckoo, — O word of fear, 
Unpleasing to a married ear ! • 

When shepherds pipe on oaten straws, 
And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks, 

When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws, 
And maidens bleach their summer smocks, 

The cuckoo then, on every tree, 

Mocks married men, for thus sings he, 
Cuckoo ; 

Cuckoo, cuckoo, — O word of fear, 

Unpleasing to a married ear! 



When icicles hang by the wall, 

And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, 
And Tom bears logs into the hall, 
' And milk comes frozen home in pail, 
When blood is nipped, and ways be foul, 
Then nightly sings the staring owl, 

To-who ; 
Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note, 
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 

When all around the wind doth blow, 

And coughing drowns the parson's saw, 
And birds sit brooding in the snow-, 

And Marian's nose looks red and raw, 
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, 
Then nightly sings the staring-owl, 

To-who ; 
Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note, 
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 

William Shakespeare. 



MARCH. 



ppRlTE stormy March is come at last, 
^!ib With wind, and cloud, and changing skies; 
^p* I hear the rushing of the blast, 
| That through the snowy valley flies. 



Ah, passing few are they Avho speak, 
Wild, stormy month! in praise of thee; 

Yet though thy Minds are loud and bleak, 
Thou art a welcome month to me. 

For thou, to Northern lands, again 
The glad and glorious sun dost bring, 

And thou hast joined the gentle train 
And wear'st the gentle name of Spring. 

And in thy reign of blast and storm, 
Smiles many a long, bright sunny day, 

When the changed winds are soft and warm, 
And heaven puts on the blue of May. 

Then sing aloud the gushing rills 

In joy that they again are free, 
And, brightly leaping down the hills, 

Renew their journey to the sea. 



The year's departing beauty hides, 
Of wintry storms the sullen threat; 

But in thy sternest frown abides 
A look of kindly promise yet. 




Thou bring'st the hope of those calm skies, 

And that soft time of sunny showers, 
When the wide bloom, on earth that lies, 
of a brighter world than ours. 

William Cullen Bryant. 



Stately Spring ! whose robe-folds are valleys, whose breast-bouquet is gardens, and 
whose blush is a vernal evening. 



GLIMPSES OF NATURE. 



129 



TO A YOUNG- ASS. 



fJ^OOK little foal of an oppressed race! 
<II§S> I love the languid patience of thy face : 
"^T^ And oft with gentle hand I give thee bread, 

J|[ And clap thy ragged coat, and pat thy head. 

J But -what thy dulled spirits hath dismay*d, 
That never thon dost sport along the glade? 
And (most unlike the nature of things young) 
That earthward still thy moveless head is hung? 
Do thy prophetic fears anticipate, 
Meek child of misery ! thy future fate, — 



Poor ass! thy master should have learnt to show 
Pity — best taught by fellowship of woe; 
For much I fear me that he lives like thee, 
Half fainish'd iu a land of luxury! 
How askingly its footsteps hither bend ! 
It seems to say. " And have I then one friend ? " 
Innocent foal ! thou poor despised, forlorn ! 
I hail thee brother, spite of the fool's scorn ; 
And fain would take thee with me, in the dell 
Of peace and mild equality to dwell, 



Wfe 




" Is thy sad heart thrilled 
To see thy wretched motl 



shortened chain? 



The starving meal, and all the thousand aches 
" "Which patient merit of th' unworthy takes?" 
Or is thy sad heart thrill'd with filial pain, 
To see thy wretched mother's' shorten'd chain? 
And truly very piteous is her lot, 
Chain'd to a log within a narrow spot. 
Where the close-eaten grass is scarcely seen. 
While sweet around her waves the tempting gre 



Where toil shall call the charmer health his bride, 

And laughter tickle plenty's ribless side ! 

How thou wouldst toss thy heels in gamesome play, 

And frisk about as lamb or kitten gay ! 

Yea, and more musically sweet to me 

Thy dissonant harsh bray of joy would be, 

Than warbled melodies, that soothe to rest 

The aching of pale fashion's vacant breast! 

Samuel Taylor Coleridge. 



130 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 

THE FIKST DAT OF SPKING. 



|! THOU bright and beautiful day, 

First bright day of the virgin spring, 
Bringing the slumbering life into play, 
Giving the leaping bird his wing! 



I hear thy voice in the lark's clear note, 
In the cricket's chirp at the evening hour, 

In the zephyr's sighs that around me float, 
In the breathing bud and the opening flower. 




"First bright day of the virgin spring." 

Thou art round me now in all thy hues, I see thy forms o'er the parting earth, 

Thy robe of green, and thy scented sweets, In the tender shoots of the grassy blade, 

In thy bursting buds, in thy blessing dews, In the thousand plants that spring to birth, 

In every form that my footstep meets. On the valley's side in the home of shade. 



GLIMPSES OF NATURE. 



131 



I feel thy promise in all my veins, 

They bound with a feeling long suppressed, 
And, like a captive who breaks his chains, 

Leap the glad hopes in my heaving breast. 



There are life and joy in thy coming, Spring! 

Thou hast no tidings of gloom and death : 
But buds thou shakest from every wing, 

And sweets thou breathest with every breath. 

William Gilmore Simms. 



DAY IS DYING, 



lY is dying ! Float, O song, 
ga|ff Down the westward river, 
"'"ff^ Requiem chanting to the Day - 
li Day, tht mighty Giver. 

Pierced by shafts of Time he bleeds, 

Melted rubies sending 
Through the river and the sky, 

Earth and heaven blending. 

All the long-drawn earthly banks 
Up to cloud-land lifting ; 



Slow between them drifts the swan, 
'Twixt two heavens drifting. 

Wings half open like a flower 

Inly deeply flushing, 
Neck and breast as virgin's pure, — 

Virgin proudly blushing. 

Day is dying! Float, O swan, 

Down the ruby river ; 
Follow, song, in requiem 

To the mighty Giver. 
Marian Evans Lewes Cross (George Eliot). 




" I steal by lawns and grassy plots; 

I slide by hazel covers ; 

I move the sweet forget-me-nots 

That grow for happy lovers." 

SONG- OF THE BROOK. 



COME from haunts of coot and hern : 

I make a sudden sally 
And sparkle out among the fern, 

To bicker down a valley. 



By thirty hills I hurry down, 
Or slip between the ridges, 

By twenty thorps, a little town. 
And half a hundred bridges. 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



Till last by Philip's farm I flow 
To join the brimming river, 

For men may come and men may go, 
But I go on forever. 

I chatter over stony ways, 
In little sharps and trebles, 

I bubble into eddying bays, 
I babble on the pebbles. 

"With mauy a curve my banks I fret 
By many a field and fallow, 

And many a fairy foreland set 
With willow- weed and mallow. 

I chatter, chatter, as I flow 
To join the brimming river; 

Eor men may come and men may go, 
But I go on forever. 

I wind about, and in and out, 
With here a blossom sailing, 

And here and there a lusty trout, 
And bere and there a grayling, 

And here and there a foamy flake 

Upon me, as I travel 
"With many a silvery waterbreak 

Above the golden gravel, 

And draw them all along, and flow 
To join the brimming river; 

Eor men may come and men may go, 
But I go on forever. 

I steal by lawns and grassy plots : 

I slide by hazel covers ; 
I move the sweet forget-me-nots 

That grow for happy lovers. 

I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, 
Among my skimming swallows; 

I make the netted sunbeam dance 
Against my sandy shallows; 



I murmur under moon and stars 
In brambly wildernesses; 

I linger by my shingly bars; 
I loiter round my cresses; 




" I chatter over stony ways." 

And out again I curve and flow 

To join the brimming river; 
For men may come and men may go, 

But I go on forever. 

Alfred Tennyson. 



o^X^^X^o 



HAIL, HOLT LIGHT. 



j, holy Light, offspring of Heaven first-born! 
Or of the Eternal coeternal beam, 
*>fK May I express thee unblamed? since God is 

Jl light, 

And never but in unapproach^d light 
Dwelt from eternity — dwelt then in thee, 
Bright effluence of bright essence increate ! 
Or hear'st thou rather pure ethereal stream. 
Whose fountain who shall tell? Before the Sun, 
Before the heavens thou wert, and at the voice 
Of God, as with a mantle, didst invest 
The rising world of waters dark and deep, 
Won from the void and formless Infinite ! 



For wonderful indeed are all his works. 

Pleasant to know, and worthiest to be all 

Had in remembrance always with delight! 

But what created mind can comprehend 

Their number, or the wisdom infinite 

That brought them forth, but hid their causes deep? 

I saw when, at his word, the formless mass. 

This world's material mould, came to a heap : 

Confusion heard his voice, and wild uproar 

Stood ruled, stood vast Infinitude confined ; 

Till, at his second bidding, darkness fled, 

Light shone, and order from disorder sprung. 

John Milton. 






GLIMPSES OF NATURE. 



J 32 



SPRING. 



|J|P ) ! where the rosy-bosomed Hours, 
sips* Fair Venus' train, appear, 
JAr Disclose the long-expecting llovvers 
And wake the purple year! 
The Attic warbler pours her throat 
Responsive to the cuckoo's note, 
The untaught harmony of spring : 
While whispering pleasure as they fly, 
Cool zephyrs through the clear blue sky 
Their gathered fragrance fling. 



And float amid the liquid noon : 
Some lightly o"er the current skim, 
Some show their gayly gilded trim 
Quick-glancing to the sun. 

To Contemplation's sober eye 

Such is the race of man ; 
And they that creep, and they that fly, 

Shall end where they began. 
Alike the busy and the gay 
But flutter through life's little day, 




Wrt&ga 



Stil! is the toiling- hand of care; 
The panting herds repose." 



Where'er the oak's thick branches stretch 

A broader, browner shade, 
Where'er the rude and moss-grown beech 

O'ercanopies the glade, 
Beside some water's rushy brink 
With me the Muse shall sit, and think 
(At ease reclined in rustic state) 
How vain the ardor of the crowd, 
How low, how little are the proud, 

How indigent the great ! 

Still is the toiling hand of care; 

The panting herds repose : 
Yet hark, how through the peopled air 

The busy murmur glows! 
The insect youth are on the wing, 
Eager to taste the honeyed spring 



In Fortune's varying colors drest: 
Brushed by the hand of rough mischance 
Or chilled by age, their airy dance 
They leave, in dust to rest. 

Methinks I hear in accents low 

The sportive kind reply : 
Poor moralist! and what art thou? 

A solitary fly ! 
Thy joys no glittering female meets, 
No hive hast thou of hoarded sweets, 
No painted plumage to display; 
On hasty wings thy youth is flown; 
Thy sun is set. thy spring is gone. — 

We frolic while 't is May. 

Thomas Gray. 



134 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 




A WINTER MORNING. 



'IS morning; and the sun, with ruddy orb 
Ascending, fires the horizon ; while the clouds 
That crowd away before the di-iving wind, 
More ardent as the disk emerges more. 
Resemble most some city in a blaze. 
Seen through the leafless wood. His slanting ray 
Slides ineffectual down the snowy vale, 
And, tingeing all with his own rosy line, 
From every herb and every spiry blade 
Stretches a length of shadow o'er the field. 
Mine, spindling into longitude immense. 
In spite of gravity, and sage remark 
That I myself am but a fleeting shade, 
Provokes me to a smile. With eye askance 
I view the muscular proportioned limb 
Transformed to a lean shank. The shapeless pair, 
As they designed to mock me, at my side 
Take step for step ; and, as I near approach 



The cottage, walk along the plastered wall, 
Preposterous sight! the legs without the man. 
The verdure of the plain lies buried deep 
Beneath the dazzling deluge ; and the bents, 
And coarser grass upspearing o'er the rest, 
Of late unsightly and unseen, now shine 
Conspicuous, and in bright apparel clad, 
And, fledged with icy feathers, not superb. 
The cattle mourn in corners, where the fence 
Screens them, and seem half petrified to sleep 
In unrecumbent sadness. There they wait 
Their wonted fodder; not, like hungering man, 
Fretful if unsupplied ; but silent, meek, 
And patient of the slow-paced swain's delay. 
He from the stack carves out the accustomed lo 
Deep plunging, and again deep plunging oft, 
His broad keen knife into the solid mass ; 
Smooth as a wall the upright remnant stands, 



GLIMPSES OF NATURE. 



135 



With such undeviating and even force 
He severs it away : no needless care 
Lest storms should overset the leaning pile 
Deciduous, or its own unbalanced weight. 
Forth goes the woodman, leaving unconcerned 
The cheerful haunts of men — to wield the axe 
And drive the wedge in yonder forest drear, 
From morn to eve his solitary task. 
Shaggy and lean and shrewd with pointed ears, 
And tail cropped short, half lurcher aud half cur, 
His dog attends him. Close behind his heel 
Now creeps he slow ; and now, with many a frisk 
Wide-scampering, snatches up the drifted snow 
With ivory teeth, or ploughs it with his snout; 
Then shakes his powdered coat, and barks for joy. 

Now from the roost, or from the neighboring pale, 
Where, diligent to catch the first faint gleam 
Of smiling day, they gossiped side by side, 
Come trooping at the housewife's well-known call 
The feathered tribes domestic. Half on wing 
And half on foot, they brush the fieecy flood, 
Conscious and fearful of too deep a plunge. 
The sparrows peep, and quit the sheltering eaves 
To seize the fair occasion. Well they eye 
The scattered grain, and, thievishly resolved 
To escape the impending famine, often scared 
As oft return, a pert voracious kind. 
Clean riddance quickly made, one only care 
Remains to each, the search of sunny nook, 
Or shed impervious to the blast. Resigned 
To sad necessity, the cock foregoes 
His wonted strut, and, wading at their head 
With well-considered steps, seems to resent 



His altered gait and stateliness retrenched. 

How find the myriads, that in summer cheer 

The hills and valleys with their ceaseless songs, 

Due sustenance, or where subsist they now? 

Earth yields them naught : the imprisoned worm is safe 

Beneath the frozen clod ; all seeds of herbs 




Lie covered close ; and berry-bearing thorns, 

That feed the thrush (whatever some suppose), 

Afford the smaller minstrels no supply. 

The long protracted rigor of the year 

Thins all their numerous flocks. In chinks and holes 

Ten thousand seek an unmolested end, 

An instinct prompts ; self -buried ere they die. 

William Cowper. 




WINTRY WEATHER. 

INTER, wilt thou never, never go? 
O Summer, but I weary for thy coming, 
Longing once more to hear the Luggie flow, 
And frugal bees, laboriously humming. 
Now the east wind diseases the infirm. 
And I must crouch in corners from rough weather; 
Sometimes a winter sunset is a charm — 
When the fired clouds, compacted, blaze together, 
And the large sun dips red behind the hills. 
I, from my window, can behold this pleasure: 
And the eternal moon, what time she fills 
Her orb with argent, treading a soft measure, 
With queenly motions of a bridal mood, 
Through the white spaces of infinitude. 

David Gray. 



The key of Nature 
sovereign. 



is laid at man's feet, because he is its divinely-constituted 



13(5 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 




" Then lads and lassies all, be gay, 
For this is nature's holiday." 



MAY-DAY. 



daisies peep from every field. 
And violets sweet their odor yield; 
The purple blossom paints the thorn, 
And streams reflect the blush of morn. 
Then lads and lassies all, be gay, 
For this is nature's holiday. 

Let lusty Labor drop his flail, 
Nor woodman's hook a tree assail , 
The ox shall cease his neck to bow, 
And Clodden yield to rest the plough, 



Behold the lark in ether float, 
While rapture swells the liquid note ! 
What warbles he, with merry cheer? 
" Let love and pleasure rule the year! 

Lo ! Sol looks down with radiant eye, 
And throws a smile around his sky; 
Embracing hill and vale and stream, 
And warming nature with his beam. 



John Wolcott, 



THE EARLY PRIMROSE. 



3ELD offspring of a dark and sullen sire? 
Whose modest form, so delicately fine, 
Was nursed in whirling storms 
And cradled in the winds. 

Thee, when young Spring first questioned Winter" 

sway, 
And dared the sturdy blusterer to the fight, 

Thee on this bank he threw, 

To mark his victory. 

In this low vale tbe promise of the year, 
Serene, thou openest to the nipping gale, 

Unnoticed and alone, 

Thv tender elegance 



So Virtue blooms, brought forth amid the storms 
Of chill adversity ; in some lone walk 

Of life she rears her head, 

Obscure and unobserved ; 

While every bleaching breeze that on her blows 
Chastens her spotless purity of breast, 

And hardens her to bear 

Serene the ills of life. 

Henry Kikke White. 



!H||j , IT came o'er my ear like the sweet South, 
Hlf That breathes upon a bank of violets, 
Stealing and giving odors. 



GLIMPSES OF NATURE. 



137 



LOVES OF THE PLANTS. 



,XY Off snow-drops cold and blue-eyed harebells 
s^f^ Their tender teais, as o'er the streams they 

H beud ' 

The love-sick violet and the primrose pale 
Bow their sweet heads and whisper to the gale; 
With secret sighs the virgin lily droops, 
And jealous cowslips hang their tawny cups. 
How the young rose, in beauty's damask pride, 
Drinks the warm blushes of his bashful bride; 
With honeyed lips enamored woodbines meet, 
Clasp with fond arms, and mix their kisses sweet! 



Stay thy soft murmuring waters, gentle rill ; 
Hush, whisperiug winds; ye rustling leaves, be still; 
Rest, silver butterflies, your quivering wings; 
Alight, ye beetles, from your airy rings ; 
Ye painted moths, your gold-eyed plumage furl, 
Bow your wide horns, your spiral trunks uncurl ; 
Glitter, ye glow-worms, on your mossy beds; 
Descend, ye spiders, on your lengthened threads; 
Slide here, ye horned snails, with varnished shells; 
Ye bee-nymphs, listen in your waxen cells ! 

Erasmus Darwin. 




TO A NIGHTINGALE. 

jjWEET bird ! that sing'st away the early hours 
Of winters past, or coming, void of care ; 
Well pleased with delights which present are. 
Fair seasons, budding sprays, sweet-smelling 
flowers : 
To rocks, to springs, to rills, from leafy bowers, 



Thou thy Creator's goodness dost declare, 
And what dear gifts on thee he did not spare, 
A stain to human sense in sin that lowers. 
What soul can be so sick which by thy songs 
(Attired in sweetness) sweetly is not driven 
Quite to forget earth's turmoils, spites, and wrongs, 
And lift a reverend eye and thought to heaven? 
Sweet artless songster ! thou my mind dost raise 
To airs of spheres, — yes, and to angels' lays. 

William Drummond. 
THE ANGLES, 

|j|N" genial spring, beneath the quivering shade, 
!H Where cooling vapors breathe along the mead, 
The patient fisher takes his silent stand* 
Intent, his angle trembling in his hand ; 
With looks unmoved, he hopes the scaly breed. 
And eyes the dancing cork, and bending reed. 



138 



THE KOYAL GALLERY. 

THE TIGER. 



flGER, tiger, burning bright 
^ In the forests of the night, 
* What immortal hand or eye 

Could frame thy fearful symmetry? 



What the hammer, what the chain? 
In what furnace was thy brain? 
What the anvil? what dread grasp 
Dare its deadly terrors clasp? 




" Tiger, tiger, burning bright 
In the forests of the night." 



In what distant deeps or skies 
Burnt the tire of thine eyes? 
On what wings dare he aspire? 
What the hand dare seize thy fire? 

And what shoulder, and what art, 
Could twist the sinews of thy heart? 
And when thy heart began to beat, 
What dread hand formed thy dread feet? 



When the stars threw down their spears, 
And watered heaven with their tears, 
Did He smile his work to see? 
Did He who made the lamb make thee? 

Tiger, tiger, burning bright, 
In the forests of the night, 
What immortal hand or eye 
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? 

William Blake. 



IgjIfHE thrush derives its name from mistletoe berries, of which it is exceedingly fond. 
illl It is famed for its clear, ringing, musical note, and sings loudest, and sweetest, and 
longest in storms ; hence it is no mean teacher to man, whose song of gladness and grati- 
tude should rise to heaven — not only when his sky is clear, but when it is darkened with 
clouds, and the storm portends fearful disasters. 



GLIMPSES OF NATURE. 



139 




" He clasps the crag with hooked hands." 

THE EAGLE. 



clasps the crag with hooked hands ; 
Close to the sun in lonely lands, 
Binged with the azure world, he stands. 



The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls; 
He watches from his mountain walls, 
And like a thunderbolt he falls. 

Alfred Tennysos. 



fHAT a desolate place would be this world without a flower ! It would be a 
i? face without a smile, — a feast without a welcome! Are not flowers the 
stars of the earth? and are not our stars the flowers of heaven? 



140 



THE ROYAL, GALLERY. 



A SUMMER MORN. 



PRUT who the melodies of mora can tell? 

t|P The wild brook babbling down the mountain- 

K side; 

* The lowing herd; the sheepfold's simple bell; 
The pipe of early shepherd dim descried 
In the lone valley; echoing far and wide 
The clamorous horn along the cliffs above ; 



Through rustling corn the hare astonished spring 
Slow tolls the village clock the drowsy hour : 
The partridge bursts away on whirring wings-, 
Deep mourns the turtle in sequestered bower. 
And shrill lark carols clear from her aerial tower. 

O Nature, how in every charm supreme! 
Whose votaries feast on raptures ever new! 




"The hollow murmur of the ocean tide ; 
The hum of bees, the linnet's lay of love, 
And the full choir that wakes the'uiiiversal grove." 



The hollow murmur of the ocean tide ; 
The hum of bees, the linnet's lay cf love. 
Ad* 1 the full choir that wakes the universal grove. 

The cottage curs at early pilgrim bark ; 
Crowned with her pail the tripping milkmaid sings-, 
The whistling ploughman stalks afield, and. hark! 
Down the rough slope the ponderous wagon rings, 



O, for ihe voice and fire of seraphim, 
To sing thy glories with devotion due. 
Blest be the day I 'scaped the wrangling crew 
From Pyrrho's maze and Epicurus' sty, 
And held high converse with the god-like few 
Who to the enraptured hesrt and ear and eye 
Teach beaury, virtue, truth, and love and melody. 
James Beattie, 







THE MOUNTAIN SPEITE. 
iS|r Omrad DielUg.) 



GLIMPSES OF NATURE. 



141 



SUNSET AT NORHAM CASTLE. 



„^4%- 



AY set on Norham's castled steep, 
And Tweed's fair river broad and deep, 

And Cheviot's mountains lone ; 
The battled towers, the donjon keep, 
The loop-hole grates where captives weep, 
The flanking walls that round it sweep, 
In yellow lustre shone. 

The warriors on the turrets high, 
Moving athwart the evening sky, 

Seemed forms of giant height ; 
Their armor, as it caught the rays, 



Above the gloomv portal arch, 
Timing nis footsteps to a march, 
The warder kept his guard, 
Low humming, as he paced along, 
Some ancient border-gathering song. 

A distant tramping sound he hears ; 
He looks abroad, and soon appears, 
O'er Horncliff hill, a plump of spears 

Beneath a pennon gay : 
A horseman, darting from the crowd, 
Like lightning from a summer cloud, 




" Cheviot's mountains lone." 



Flashed back again the western blaze 
In lines of dazzling light. 

St. George's banner, broad and gay, 

Now faded, as the fading ray 

Less bright, and less, was flung ; 

The evening gale had scarce the power 

To wave it on the donjon tower, 
So heavily it hung. 

The scouts had parted on their search, 
The castle gates were barred ; 



Spurs on his mettled courser proud, 
Before the dark array. 

Beneath the sable palisade, 
That closed the castle barricade, 

His bugle-horn he blew; 
The warder hasted from the wall, 
And warned the captain in the hall, 

For well the blast he knew; 
And joyfully that knight did call 
To sewer, squire, and seneschal. 

Sir Walter Scott. 



Nature is like an iEolian harp, a musical instrument 
righer strings within us. 



whose tones are the re-echo of 



142 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



TO THE DANDELION. 



5AR common flower, that growest beside the 

way, 
Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold, 

First pledge of blithesome May, 
Which children pluck, and, full of pride, 
uphold, 
High-hearted buccaneers, o'erjoyed that they 
An Eldorado in the grass have found, 

Which not the rich earth's ample round 

May match in wealth — thou art more dear to me 

Than all the prouder summer-blooms may be. 

Gold such as thine ne'er drew the Spanish prow 
Through the primeval hush of Indian seas, 

Nor wrinkled the lean brow 
Of age, to rob the lover's heart of ease; 

'Tis the spring's largess, which she scatters now 
To rich and poor alike, with lavish hand, 
Though most hearts never understand 
To take it at God's value, but pass by 
The offered wealth with unrewarded eye. 

Thou art my tropics and mine Italy ; 
To look at thee unlocks a warmer clime; 

The eyes thou givest me 
Are in the heart, and heed not space or time : 

Not in mid June the golden-cuirassed bee 
Feels a more summer-like, warm ravishment 
In the white lily's breezy tent, 
His conquered Sybaris, than I, when first 
From the dark green thy yellow circles burst. 



Then think I of deep shadows on the grass, — > 
Of meadows where in sun the cattle graze, 

Where, as the breezes pass, 
The gleaming rushes lean a thousand waj r s, — 

Of leaves that slumber in a cloudy mass, 
Or whiten in the wind, — of waters blue 
That from the distance sparkle through 
Some woodland gap, — and of a sky above. 
Where one white cloud like a stray lamb doth move. 

My childhood's earliest thoughts are linked with 
thee; 
The sight of thee calls back the robin's song, 

Who, from the dark old tree 
Beside the door, sang clearly all day long, 

And I, secure in childish piety, 
Listened as if 1 heard an angel sing 

With news from heaven, which he did bring 
Fresh every day to my untainted ears, 
When birds and flowers and I were happy peers. 

How like a prodigal doth nature seem, 
When thou, for all thy gold, so common art! 

Thou teachest me to deem 
More sacredly of every human heart, 

Since each reflects in joy its scanty gleam 
Of heaven, and could some wondro'us secret show, 
Did we but pay the love we owe, 
And with a child's undoubting wisdom look 
On all these living pages of God's book. 

J. R. Lowell. 



HYMN TO THE FLOWERS. 



rY\; AY-STARS ! that ope your eyes with morn to 
eiKip twinkle, 

JL From rainbow galaxies of earth's creation, 
* And dew-drops on her lonely altars sprinkle 
As a libation ! 

Ye matin worshipers ! who bending lowly 

Before the uprisen sun — God's lidless eye — 
Throw from your chalices a sweet and holy 
Incense on high ! 

Ye bright mosaics ! that with storied beauty 

The floor of Nature's temple tessellate, 
What numerous emblems of instructive duty 
Your forms create ! 

'Neath cloistered boughs, each floral bell that swingeth 

And tolls its perfume on the passing air. 
Makes Sabbath in the fields, and ever ringeth 
A call to prayer. 

Not to the domes where crumbling arch and column 
Attest the feebleness of mortal "hand, 



But to that fane, most catholic and solemn, 
Which God hath planned ; 

To that cathedral, boundless as our wonder, 

Whose quenchless lamps the sun and moon supply-* 
Its choir the winds and waves, its organ thunder, 
Its dome the sky. 

There — as in solitude and shade I wander 
Through the green aisles, or, stretched upon the 
sod, 
Awed by the silence, reverently ponder 
The ways of God — 

Your voiceless lips, O Flowers, are living preachers. 

Each cup a pulpit, and each leaf a book, 
Supplying to my fancy numerous teachers 

From loneliest nook. 
Floral Apostles! that in dewy splendor 

" Weep Avithout woe, and blush without a crime, r 
Oh, may I deeply learn, and ne'er surrender, 
Your lore sublime ! 



GLIMPSES OF NATURE. 



143 



*« Thou wert not, Solomon! in all thy glory. 

Arrayed," the lilies cry, " in robes like ours; 
How vain your grandeur ! Ah, how transitory 
Are human flowers! " 

In the sweet-scented pictures, Heavenly Artist! 

With which thoupaintestNature's wide-spread hall, 
What a delightful lesson thou impartest 
Of love to all. 



Ephemeral sages! what instructors hoary 

For such a world of thought could furnish scope? 
Each fading calyx a memento mori, 

Yet fount of hope. 

Posthumous glories! angel-like collection! 

Upraised from seed or bulb interred in earth, 
Ye are to me a type of resurrection, 
And second birth. 




There — as in solitude and shade '. 
Through the green aisles, . . 



Not useless are ye, Flowers! though made for 
pleasure : 
Blooming o'er field and wave, by day and night, 
From every source your sanction bids me treasure 
Harmless delight. 



Were I, O God, in churchless lands remaining, 

Far from all voice of teachers or divines, 
My soul would find, in flowers of thy ordaining, 
Priests, sermons, shrines! 

Horace Smith. 



SOLACE IN NATURE. 



fl|jiATUEE never did betray 
pp The heart that loved her. 'Tis her privilege, 
^P* 3 Through all the years of this our life, to lead 
w From joy to joy; for she can so inform 
I The mind that is within us, so impress 
With quietness and beauty, and so feed 
With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues, 
Kash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, 
Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all 
The dreary intercourse of daily life, 
Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb 
Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold 
Is full of blessings. 



Therefore let the moon 
Shine on thee in thy solitary walk ; 
And let the misty mountain winds be free 
To blow against thee ; and, in after years, 
When these wild ecstasies shall be matured 
Into a sober pleasure ; when the mind 
Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms; 
Thy memory be as a dwelling-place 
For all sweet sounds and harmonies : oh! then, 
If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief, 
Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts 
Of tender joy wilt thou remember me, 
And these my exhortations ! 

William Wordsworth. 



144 



THE EOYAL GALLEEY. 



JUNE. 



fAKTH gets its price for what Earth gives us; 
The beggar is taxed for a corner to die in; 
The priest has his fee who comes and shrives us ; 
We bargain for the graves we lie in ; 
At the Devil's booth are all things sold, 
Each ounce of dross costs its ounce of gold ; 

For a cap aud bells our lives we pay, 
Bubbles we buy with the whole soul's tasking ' 

'Tis heaven alone that is given away, 
'Tis only G-od may be had for the asking ; 
No price is set on the lavish summer, 
June may be had by the poorest comer. 



Every clod feels a stir of might, 

An instinct within it that reaches and towers', 
And, groping blindly above it for light, 

Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers ; 
The flush of life may well be seen 

Thrilling back over hills and valleys; 
The cowslip startles in meadows green, 

The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice, 
And there's never a leaf or a blade too mean 

To be some happy creature's palace ; 
The little bird sits at his door in the sun, 

Atilt like a blossom among the leaves, 




" Now is the high-tide of 1 

year, 
And whatever of life ha\Jl 

ebhed away 
Comes flooding- back, with It 

ripply cheer." 



And what is so rare as a day in June? 

Then, if ever, come perfect days; 
Then heaven tries the earth if it be in tune, 

And over it softly her warm ear lays. 
Whether we look, or whether we listen, 
We hear life murmur, or see it glisten: 



And lets his illumined being o'errun 

With the deluge of summer it receives; 
His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings, 
And the heart in her dumb breast nutters and singa, 
He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest,— 
In the nice ear of Nature, which song is the best? 



GLIMPSES OF NATURE. 



145 



Now is the high-tide of the year, 
And whatever of life hath ebbed away 

Comes flooding back, with a ripply cheer, 
Into every bare inlet and creek and bay ; 

Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it, 

We are happy now because God wills it; 

No matter how barren the past may have been, 

'Tis enough for us now that the leaves are green ; 

We sit in the warm shade and feel right well 

How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell ; 

We may shut our eyes, but we cannot help knowing 

That skies are clear and grass is growing ; 

The breeze comes whispering in our ear 

That dandelions are blossoming near, 

That maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing, 

That the river is bluer than the sky, 

That the robin is plastering his house hard by; 

And if the breeze kept the good news back, 

For other couriers we should not lack ; 



We could guess it all by yon heifer's lowing, — 
And hark! how clear bold chanticleer, 
Warmed with the new wine of the year, 

Tells all in his lusty crowing ! 
Joy comes, grief goes, we know not how ; 
Everything is happy now, 

Everything is upward striving ; 
'Tis as easy now for the heart to be true 
As for grass to be green or skies to be blue, 

'Tis the natural way of living : 
Who knows whither the clouds have fled? 

In the unscarred heaven they leave no wake, 
And the eyes forget the tears they have shed, 

The heart forgets its sorrow and ache ; 
The soul partakes the season's youth, 

And the sulphurous rifts of passion and woe 
Lie deep 'neath a silence pure and smooth, 

Like burnt-out craters healed with snow. 

James Russell Lowell. 



TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY. 



ON TURNING ONE DOWN AVITH A PLOUGH. 



E, modest, crimson-tipped flower, 
* *sj Thou's met me in an evil hour; 
/fyf< For I maun crush amang the stoure 
J^ Thy slender stem : 

To spare thee now is past my power, 
Thou bonnie gem. 

Alas ! it's no thy neebor sweet, 
The bonnie lark, companion meet, 
Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet, 

Wi' speckled breast, 
When upward springing, blithe to greet 

The purpling east ! 

Cauld blew the bitter-biting north 
Upon thy early, humble birth ; 
Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth 

Amid the storm; 
Scarce reared above the parent earth 

Thy tender form ! 

The flaunting flowers our gardens yield 
High sheltering woods and wa's maun shield; 
But thou beneath the random bield 

O' clod or stane 
Adorns the histie stibble-field, 

Unseen, alane. 

There, in thy scanty mantle clad, 
Thy snawy bosom sunward spread, 
Thou lifts thy unassuming head 
In humble guise ; 



But now the share uptears thy bed, 
And low thou lies ! 

Such is the fate of artless maid, 
Sweet floweret of the rural shade ! 
By love's simplicity betrayed. 

And guileless trust, 
Till she, like thee, all soiled is laid 

Low i' the dust. 

Such is the fate of simple bard, 

On life's rough ocean luckless starredl 

Unskilful he to note the card 

Of prudent lore, 
Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, 

And whelm him o'er ! 

Such fate to suffering worth is given, 
Who long with wants and woes has striven, 
By human pride or cunning driven 

To misery's brink, 
Till, wrenched of every stay but Heaven, 

He, ruined, sink ! 

E'en thou who mourn'st the daisy's fate, 
That fate is thine — no distant date ; 
Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives, elate, 

Full ou thy bloom, 
Till crushed beneath the furrow's weight, 
Shall be thy doom ! 

Robert Burns. 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 





" I in these flowery meads would be, 
These crystal streams should solace me." 

THE ANGLER'S WISH. 



EST these flowery meads would be, 
These crystal streams should solace me ; 
To whose harmonious bubbling noise, 
with my Angle would rejoice, 
Sit here, and see the turtle-dove. 
Court his chaste mate to acts of love : 



And raise my low-pitch'd thoughts above 
Earth, or what poor mortals love : 
Thus free from lawsuits, and the noise 
Of princes' courts, I would rejoice: 

Or with my Bryan and a book, 

Loiter long days near Shawf ord Brook ; 




Or on that bank, feel the west wind 
Breathe health and plenty, please my mind 
To see sweet dew-drops kiss these flowers, 
And then wash off by April showers : 

Here hear my Kenna sing a song. 

There see a blackbird feed her young, 

Or a laverock build her nest; 
Here give my weary spirits rest, 



There sit by him, and eat my meat, 

There see the sun both rise and set; 

There bid good-morning to next day; 

There meditate my time away ; 
And angle on, and beg to have 
A quiet passage to a welcome grave. 

Izaak Walton, 



GLIMPSES OF NATURE. 



THE BROOM. 



3.1 the broom, the bonny, bonny broom, 

On my native bills it grows ; 
I bad rather see the bonny broom, 

Than the rarest flower that blows. 
Oh ! the yellow broom is blossoming, 

In my own dear country ; 
I never thought so small a thing 
As a flower my nerveless heart could wring, 

Or draw a tear from me. 

It minds me of my native hills, 

Clad in the heath and fen ; 
Of the green strath and the flowery brae, 

Of the glade and the rockless glen ; 



It minds ine of dearer things than these — 

Of love with life entwined, 
Of humble faith on bended knees, 
Of home joys gone, and memories, 

Like sere leaves, left behind ! 

It minds me of that blessed time, 

Of the friends so true to me, 
Of my warm-hearted Highland love, 

When the broom was the trysting-tree. 
I loathe this fair but foreign strand, 

With its fadeless summer bloom ; 
And I swear, by my own dear native land, 
Again on the heathy hills to stand, 

Where waves the yellow broom. 

Mary Howttt. 




ODE TO LEVEN WATER. 



Leven's banks, while free to rove 
And tune the rural pipe to love, 
I envied not the happiest swain 
That ever trod th' Arcadian plain. 
Pure stream, in whose transparent wave 
My youthful limbs I wont to lave, 
No torrents stain thy limpid source, 
No rocks impede thy dimpling course, 
That sweetly warbles o'er its bed, 
With white, round, polished pebbles spread; 
While, lightly poised, the scaly brood 
In myriads cleave thy crystal flood ; 
The springing tront, in speckled pride; 
The salmon, monarch of the tide ; 



The ruthless pike, intent on war; 
The silver eel, and mottled par; 
Devolving from thy parent lake, 
A charming maze thy waters make, 
By bowers of birch and groves of pine, 
And edges flowered with eglantine. 
Still on thy banks so gayly green 
May numerous flocks and herds be seen ; 
And lasses chanting o'er the pail, 
And shepherds piping in the dale ; 
And ancient faith that knows no guile, 
And industry imbrowned by toil, 
And hearts resolved, and hands prepared. 
The blessings they enjoy to guard. 

Tobias George Smollet. 



148 



THE EOYAL GALLEEY. 



A SPRING DAT. 



)VAN"CENTG spring profusely spreads abroad 
Flowers of all hues, with sweetest fragrance 

stored ; 
Where'er she treads Love gladdens over plain, 
Delight on tiptoe bears her lucid train; 
Sweet Hope with conscious brow before her flies, 
Anticipating wealth from Summer skies ; 



All Nature feels her renovating sway; 

The sheep-fed pasture, and the meadows gay; 

And trees, and shrubs, no longer budding seen, 

Display the new-grown branch of lighter green; 

On airy downs the idling shepherd lies, 

And sees to-morrow in the marbled skies. 

EOBERT BLOOMFIELD. 




" The sheep-fed pasture, and the meadows gay." 
«t» 2^>y^ ^. 

THE LITTLE BEACH-BIRD. 



els" 



HOU little bird, thou dweller by the sea, 
Why takest thou its melancholy voice? 
Why with that boding cry 
* O'er the waves dost thou fly? 

J O, rather, bird, with me 

Through the fair land rejoice! . 

Thy flitting form comes ghostly dim and pale, 
As driven by a beating storm at sea ; 
Thy cry is weak and scared. 
As if thy mates had shared 
The doom of us. Thy wail — 
What does it bring to me? 

Thou call'st along the sand, and haunt'st the surge, 
Eestless and sad ; as if, in strange accord 
With motion and with roar 
Of waves that drive to shore, 
One spirit did ye urge — 
*fhe Mystery — the Word. 



Of thousands thou both sepulchre and pall, 

Old ocean, art! A requiem o'er the dead, 

From out thy gloomy cells, 

A tale of mourning tells, — 

Tells of man's woe and fall, 

His sinless glory fled. 

Then turn thee, little bird, and take thy flight 
Where the complaining sea shall sadness bring 
Thy spirit nevermore. 
Come, quit with me the shore, 
For gladness and the light, 
Where birds of summer sing. 

Eichard Henry Dana. 



WO daintie flowre or herbe thatgrowes on grownd, 
'{ATl*, No arborett with painted blossoms drest 
And smelling sweete, but there it might be fownd 
To bud out faire, and throwe her sweete smels al 
arnwnd 



GLIMPSES OF MATURE. 




" Hundreds have come ( 
My grandeur in decay." 



THE AGED OAK AT OAKLET. 



WAS a young fair tree ; 
_ Each spring with quivering green 
' My boughs were clad, and far 
Down the deep vale a light 
Shone from me on the eyes 
Of those who pass'd, — a light 
That told of sunny days, 
And blossoms, and blue sky; 
For I was ever first 
Of all the grove to hear 
The soft voice underground 
Of the warm-working spring, 



And ere my brethren stirr'd 
Their sheathed bud, the kine, 
And the kine's keeper, came 
Slow up the valley path, 
And laid them underneath 
My cool and rustling leaves, 
And I could feel them there 
As in the quiet shade ' 
They stood with tender thoughts, 
That passed along their life 
Like wings on a still lake, 
Blessing me; and to God,- 



150 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



The blessed God, who cares 
For all my little leaves, 
Went up the silent praise ; 
And I was glad with joy 
Which life of laboring things 
111 knows — the joy that sinks 
Into a life of rest. 
Ages have fled since then, 
But deem not my fierce trunk 
And scanty leafage serve 
No high behest; my name 
Is sounded far and wide ; 
And in the Providence 
That guides the steps of men, 



Hundreds have come to view 

My grandeur in decay ; 

And there hath pass'd from me 

A quiet influence 

Into the minds of men : 

The silver head of age, 

The majesty of laws, 

The very name of God, 

And holiest things that are, 

Have won upon the heart 

Of human kind the more, 

For that I stand to meet 

With vast and bleaching trunk, 

The rudeness of the sky. 

Henry Alford. 



THE PHEASANT. 



tJNOW. 



|LOSE by the borders of the fringed lake, 
And on the oak's expanded bough, is seen, 
What time the leaves thepassing zephyrs shake, 
And gently murmur through the sylvan scene, 
The gaudy Pheasant, rich in varying dyes, 
That fade alternate, and alternate glow: 
Receiving now his color from the skies, 
And now reflecting back the watery bow. 
He flaps his wings, erects his spotless crest, 
His flaming eyes dart forth a piercing ray; 
He swells the lovely plumage of his breast, 
And glares a wonder of the Orieut day. 



THE THRUSH. 

|OXGSTER of the russet coat, 
Full and liquid is thy note ; 
Plain thy dress, but great thy skill, 
Captivating at thy will. 

Small musician of the field, 
Near my bower thy tribute yield, 
Little servant of the ear, 
Ply thy task, and never fear. 

I will learn from thee to praise 
God. the Author of my days ; 
I will learn from thee to sing, 
Christ, my Saviour and my King ; 
Learn to labor with my voice, 
Make the sinking heart rejoice. 



jSfeT last the golden oriental gate 
!HJI1 Of greatest heaven 'gan to open fair, 
And Phoebus, fresh as bridegroom to his mate, 
Came dancing forth, shaking his dewy hair; 
And hurls his glistening beams through gloomy air. 



gHE blessed morn has come again ; 
I The early gray 

Taps at the slumberer's window-pane, 

And seems to say, 
Break, break from the enchanter's chain 
Away, away! 




'Tis winter, yet there is no sound 

Along the air 
Of winds along their battle-ground ; 

But gently there 
The snow is falling, — all around 

How fair, how fair! 

Ralph Hott. 



GLIMPSES OF NATURE. 



151 



THE O'LINCOLN FAMILY. 



■|| FLOCK of merry singing-birds were sporting 
PI in the grove : 

<pT Some were warbling cheerily, and some were 
making love : 
There were Bobolincon, Wadolincon, Winter- 
seeble, Conquedle, — 
ivelier set was never led by tabor, pipe, or Addle,— 
ring, ' ; Phew, shew, Wadolincon, see, see, Bob- 
olincon, 
ivn among the tickletops, hiding in the buttercups! 
low the saucy chap, I see his shining cap 
)bing in the clover there, — see, see, see! " 

flies Bobolincon, perching on an apple-tree, 
rtled by his rival's song, quickened by his 

raillery ; 
n he spies the rogue afloat, curvetting in the air, 
1 merrily he turns about, and warns him to 

beware! • 
'is you that would a-wooing go, down among the 

rushes ! 



But wait a week, till flowers are cheery,— wait a 

week, and, ere you marry, 
Be sure of a house wherein to tarry ! 
Wadolink, Whiskodink, Tom Denny, wait, wait, 

wait! " 

Eveiy one's a funny fellow; every one's a little 
mellow ; 

Follow, follow, follow, follow, o er the hill and in the 
hollow! 

Merrily, merrily, there they hie ; now they rise and 
now they fly ; 

They cross and turn, and in and out, and down in the 
middle, and wheel about, — 

With a "Phew, shew, Wadolincon! listen to me, Bob- 
olincon ! — 

Happy's the wooing that's speedily doing, thaws' 
speedily doing, 

That's merry and over with the bloom of the clover! 

Bobolincon, Wadolincon, Winterseeble, follow, follow 
me!" 

Wilson Flagg. 




■c # g. 



SOLITUDE OF THE SEA. 



RE is a rapture on the lonely shore, 
There is society, where none intrudes, 
By the deep sea, and music in its roar: 
I love not man the less, but nature more 



From these our interviews, in which I steal 
From all I maybe, or have been before, 
To mingle with the universe, and feel 
What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal. 
Lord Byron. 



152 



THE KOYAL GALLEKY. 



SUMMER DROUGHT 

■ cjfr . 

fHEN winter came the land was lean and sere, 
There fell no snow, and oft from wild and 
"7<?f>* field 

If In famished tameness came the drooping deer 



Yet ere the noon, as brass the heaven turns, 
The cruel sun smites with unerring aim, 

The sight and touch of all things blinds and burns, 
And bare, hot hills seem shimmering into flame! 



And licked the waste about the troughs 
congealed. 

And though at spring we plowed and proffered seed, 
It lay ungermed, a pillage for the birds ; 

And unto one low dam, in urgent need, 
We daily drove the suppliant lowing herds. 

But now the fields to barren wastes have run, 
The dam a pool of oozing greenery lies, 

Where knots of gnats hang reeling in the sun 
Till early dusk, when tilt the dragon-flies. 



On either side the shoe-deep dusted lane 
The meagre wisps of fennel scorch to wire : 

Slow lags the team that drags an empty wain, 
And, creaking dry, a wheel runs off its tire. 

jSTo flock upon the naked pasture feeds, 
No blithesome "Bob-White " whistles from the 
fence ; 

A gust runs crackling through the brittle weeds, 
And heat and silence seem the mor< 




■ A pillage for the birds.* 



All night the craw-flsh deeper digs her wells, 
As shows the clay that freshly curbs them round ; 

And many a random upheaved tunnel tells 
Where ran the mole across the fallow ground. 

But ah, the stone-dumb dullness of the dawn, 
When e'en the cocks too listless are to crow, 

And lies the w r orld as from all life withdrawn, 
Unheeding and outworn and swooning low ! 

There is no dew on any greenness shed, 

The hard-baked earth is split along the walks, 

The very burs in stunted clumps are dead, 
And mullein-leaves drop withered from the stalks. 



On outspread wings a hawk, far poised on high, 
Quick swooping screams, and then is heard no 
more: 

The strident shrilling of a locust nigh 
Breaks forth, and dies in silence as before. 

No transient cloud o'erskims with flakes of shade 
The landscape hazed in dizzy gleams of heat; 

A dove's wing glances like a parried blade, 
And western walls the beams in torrents beat. 

So burning, low and lower still the sun, 
In fierce white fervor, sinks anon from sight, 

And so the dread, despairing day is done, 
And dumbly broods again the haggard night ! 

J. P. Irvine. 



GLIMPSES OF NATURE. 



153 





.■; kn : ^ 




THE RHINE. 



|HE castled crag of Drachenfels 
| Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine, 
' Whose breast of waters broadly swells 
Between the banks which bear the vine, 
And hill all rich with blossomed trees, 

And fields which promise corn and wine, 
And scattei-ed cities crowning these, . 

Whose far white walls along them shine, 
Have strewed a scene, which I should see 
"With double joy wert thou with me. 



And peasant girls with deep-blue eyes, 

And hands which offer early flowers, 
W T alk smiling o'er this paradise; 

Above, the frequent feudal towers 
Through green leaves lift their walls of gray., 

And many a rock which steeply lowers, 
And noble arch in proud decay, 

Look o'er this vale of vintage-bowers: 
But one thing want these tanks of Rhine, — 
Thy gentle hand to clasp in mine 



154 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



I send the lilies given to me : 

Though long before thy hand they touch 
I know that they must withered be, 

But yet reject them not as such; 
For I have cherished them as dear, 

Because they yet may meet thine eye, 
And guide thy soul to mine even here, 

When thou behold'st them drooping nigh, 
And know'st them gathered by the Rhine, 
And offered from my heart to thine ! 



The river nobly foams and flows, 

The charm of this enchanted ground, 
And all its thousand turns disclose 

Some fresher beauty varying round : 
The haughtiest breast its wish might bound 

Through life to dwell delighted here ; 
Nor could on earth a spot be found 

To nature and to me so dear, 
Could thy dear eyes in following mine 
Still sweeten more these banks of Rhine. 

Lord Byron. 




TO A MOUNTAIN OAK. 



|ROTJD mountain giant, whose majestic face, 
From thy high watch-tower on the steadfast 

rock, 
Looks calmly o'er the trees that throng thy base, 
How long hast thou withstood the tempest's 
shock? 



How long hast thou looked down on yonder vale, 

Sleeping in sun before thee ; 
Or bent thy ruffled brow to let the gale 

Steer its white, drifting sails just o'er thee? 
George Henry Boker. 



HERE is a serene and settled majesty in forest scenery that enters into the soul, and 

l~&-^ dilates and elevates it, and fills it with noble inclinations. The ancient and hered- 

y( $ v; itary groves, too, which everywhere abound, are most of them full of story. They 

•W. are haunted by the recollections of the great spirits of past ages who have sought 

relaxation among them from the tumult of arms or the toils of state, or have wooed the 

muse beneath their shade. 



GLIMPSES OF NATURE. 

FOREST PICTURES. 



GRACIOUS breath of sunrise! divine air! 

That brood'st serenely o'er the purpling hills ; 
O blissful valley! nestling, cool and fair, 

In the fond arms of yonder murmurous rills, 



The fitful breezes, fraught with forest balm, 
Faint, in rare wafts of perfume, on my brow; 

The woven lights and shadows, rife with calm. 
Creep slantwise 'twixt the foliage, bough on bougb 




K The woven lights and shadows, rife with calm, 
Creep slantwise 'twixt the foliage, hough on bough 
Uplifted heavenward, like a verdant cloud 
Whose rain is music, soft as love, or loud 
With jubilant hope,— for there, entranced, apart, 
The mock-bird sings, close, close to Nature's heart." 



Breathing their grateful measures to the sun; 
dew-besprinkled paths, that circling run 
Through sylvan shades and solemn silences, 
Once more ye bring my fevered spirit peace\ 



Uplifted heavenward, like a verdant cloud 
Whose rain is music, soft as love, or loud 
With jubilant hope, — for there, entranced, apart, 
The mock-bird sings, close, close to Nature's heart. 



156 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



Shy forms about the greenery, out and in, 
Flit 'neath the broadening glories of the morn ; 

The squirrel — that quaint sylvan harlequin — 
Mount? the tall trunks; while swift as lightning, 
born 



The deer-hound's voice, sweet as the golden bell's, 

Prolonged by flying echoes round the dells, 

And up the loftiest summits wildly borne, 

Blent with the blast of some keen huntsman's horn. 




' The squirrel — that quaint sylvan harlequin." 



Of summer mists, from tangled vine and tree 
Dart the dove's pinions, pulsing vividly 
Down the dense glades, till glimmering far and gray 
The dusky vision softly melts away! 

In transient, pleased bewilderment, I mark 
The last dim shimmer of those lessening wings, 

When from lone copse and shadowy covert, hark ! 
What mellow tongue through all the woodland 
rings! 



And now the checkered vale is left behind ; 

I climb the slope, and reach the hill-top bright; 
Here, in bold freedom, swells a sovereign wind, 

Whose gusty prowess sweeps the pine-clad height; 
While the pines. — dreamy Titans roused from sleep,— 
Answer with mighty voices, deep on deep 
Of wakened foliage surging like a sea ; 
And o'er them smiles Heaven's calm infinity! 

Paul Hamilton Hayne. 



o>«X=^feX><° 



FLOWERS. 



WE valleys low, where the mild whispers rise 

Is Of shades, and wanton winds, and gushing 

j brooks 

On whose fresh lap the swart-star sparely looks : 
Throw hither all your quaint enameled eyes, 
That on the green turf suck the honeyed showers, 
And purple all the ground with vernal flowers. 



Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, 

The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine, 

The white pink, and the pansy freaked with jet, 

The glowing violet, 

The musk-rose, and the well-attired woodbine, 

With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head. 

And every flower that sad embroideiy wears. 

John Milton. 



GLIMPSES OF NATURE. 



151 




" Oft have I walked these woodland paths." 



158 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



UNDER THE LEAVES. 



IJFT have I walked these woodland paths, 
W Without the blest foreknowing 
j. That underneath the withered leaves 
The fairest buds were growing. 

To-day the south wind sweeps away 
The types of autumn's splendor, 

And shows the sweet arbutus flowers, 
Spring's children, pine and tender. 



O prophet-flowers ! — with lips of bloom, 

Out-vying in your beauty 
The pearly tints of ocean shells, — 

Ye teach me faith and duty ! 

"Walk life's dark ways," ye seem to say, 
" With love's divine foreknowing, 

That where man sees but withered loaves, 
God sees sweet flowers growing." 

Albert Laigiiton. 




WINTER. 



MM WINTER, ruler of the inverted year, 
JVJr. Thy scattered hair with sleet-like ashes filled, 
*W< Thy breath congealed upon thy lips, thy cheeks 
J4, Fringed with a beard made white with other 



Than those of age, thy forehead wrapped in clouds, 

A leafless branch thy sceptre, and thy throne 

A sliding car, indebted to no wheels, 

But urged by storms along its slippery way, 

I love thee, all unlovely as thou seem'st, 

And dreaded as thou art! Thou hold'st the sun 

A prisoner in the yet undawning east, 

Shortening his journey between morn and noon, 



And hurrying him, impatient of his stay, 
Down to the rosy west; but kindly still 
Compensating his loss with added hours 
Of social converse and instructive ease. 
And gathering, at short notice, in one group 
The family dispersed, and fixing thought, 
Not less dispersed by daylight and its cares. 
I crown thee king of intimate delights, 
Fireside enjoyments, home-born happiness, 
And all the comforts that the lowly roof 
Of undisturbed retirement, and the hours 
Of long uninterrupted evening know. 

William Cowper, 



GLIMPSES OF NATURE. 



359 



THE FLOWER'S NAME. 






fERE'S the garden she walked across, 
Arm in my arm, such a shore while since : 
Hark ! now I push its wicket, the moss 
Hinders the hinges, and makes them wince. 
She must have reached the shrub ere she turned, 
As hack with that murmur the wicket swung; 
Tor she laid the poor snail my chance foot spurned, 
To feed and forget it the leaves among. 

Down this side of the gravel-walk 

She went while her robe's edge brushed the box; 
And here she paused in her gracious talk 
' To point me a moth on the milk-white phlox. 
Hoses, ranged in valiant row, 

I will never think that she passed you by! 
She loves you, noble roses, I know; 

But yonder see where the rock-plants lie! 

This flower she stopped at, finger on lip, — 

Stooped over, in doubt, as settling its claim; 
Till she gave me, with pride to make no slip, 

Its soft meandering Spanish name. 
"What a name! was it love or praise? 

Speech half asleep, or song half awake? 
I must learn Spanish one of these days, 

Only for that slow sweet name's sake. 



Roses, if I live and do well, 

I may bring her one of these days, 
To fix you fast with as fine a spell, — 

Fit you each with his Spanish phrase. 
But do not detain me now, for she lingers 

There, like a sunshine over the ground ; 
And ever I see her soft white fingers 

Searching after the bud she found. 

Flower, you Spaniard! look that you grow not, — 

Stay as you are, and be loved forever! 
Bud, if I kiss you, 'tis that you blow not, — 

Mind ! the shut pink mouth opens never ! 
For while thus it pouts, her fingers wrestle, 

Twinkling the audacious leaves between, 
Till round they turn, and down they nestle : 

Is not the dear mark still to be seen? 

Where I find her not, beauties vanish; 

Whither I follow her, beauties flee. 
Is there no method to tell her in Spanish 

June's twice June since she breathed it with me? 
Come, bud ! show me the least of her traces ; 

Treasure my lady's lightest footfall : 
Ah! you may flout and turn up your faces, — 

Roses, you are not so fair, after all ! 

Robert Browning. 



SPRING IN CAROLINA. 



^y^PRING, with that nameless pathos in the air 
A-^: Which dwells with all things fair, 
2ft Spring, with her golden suns and silver rain, 
iff Is with us once again. 

Out in the lonely woods the jasmine burns 
Its fragrant lamps, and turns 
Into a royal court with green festoons 
The banks of dark lagoons. 

In the deep heart of every forest tree 
The blood is all aglee, 

And there's a look about the leafless bowers, 
As if they dreamed of flowers. 

Tet still on every side we trace the hand 
Of winter in the land, 

Save where the maple reddens on the lawn, 
Flushed by the season's dawn; 

Or where, like those strange semblances we And 
That age to childhood bind, 
The elm puts on, as if in Nature's scorn, 
The brown of autumn corn. 

As yet the turf is dark, although you know 
That, not a span below, 



A thousand germs are groping through the gloom, 
And soon will burst their tomb. 

In gardens you may note amid the dearth 

The crocus breaking ecrth; 

And near the snow-drop's tender white and green, 

The violet in its screen. 

But many gleams and shadows needs must pass 
Along the budding grass, 
And weeks go by, before the enamored South 
Shall kiss the rose's mouth. 

Still there's sense of blossoms yet unborn 
In the sweet airs of morn ; 
One almost looks to see the very street 
Grow purple at his feet. 

At times a fragrant breeze comes floating by, 
And brings, you know not why, 
A feeling as when eager crowds await 
Before a palace gate 

Some wondrous pageant; and you scarce would start, 
If from a beech's heart 

A blue-eyed Diyad, stepping forth, should say, 
" Behold me ! I am May ! " 

Henry Timrod. 



16<? 



THE ROYAL GALLERY 

THE LARK, 



|0! here the gentle lark, weary of rest, 
From his moist cabinet mounts up on high, 
And wakes the morning, from whose silver 

"breast 



The sun ariseth in his majesty; 

Who doth the world so gloriously behold, . 

That cedar-tops and hills seem burnish'd gold. 

William Shakespeare. 




GRIZZLY. 



fOWARD, of heroic size, 
In whose lazy muscles lies 
Strength Ave fear, and yet despise; 
Savage,— whose relentless tusks 
Are content with acorn husks ; 
Robber,— whose exploits ne'er 



O'er the bee's or squirrel's hoard;. 
Whiskered chin, and feeble nose, 
Claws of steel, on baby toes. — 
Here, in solitude and shade, 
Shambling, shuffling, plantigrade,, 
Be thy courses undismayed ! 



GLIMPSES OF NATURE. 



161 



Here, where Nature makes thy bed, 
Let thy rude, half-human tread 

Point to hidden Indian springs, 
Lost in fern and fragrant grasses 

Hovered o'er by timid wings. 
"Where the wood-duck lightly passes, 
"Where the wild bee holds her sweets — 
Epicurean retreats, 
Fit for thee, and better than 
Fearful spoils of dangerous man. 



In thy fat-jowled deviltry, 
Friar Tuck shall live in thee ; 
Thou may'st levy tithe and dole ; 

Thou shalt spread the woodland cheer, 
From the pilgrim taking toll ; 

Match thy cunning with his fear, 
Eat and drink and have thy rill ; 
Yet remain an outlaw still! 

Bret Hakte. 



THE VIOLET. 



WSm FAINT, delicious spring-time violet! 
WiB Thine odor, like a key, 

X Turns noiselessly in memory's wards to let 
• A thought of sorrow free. 

The breath of distant fields upon my brow 

Blows through that open door 
The sound of wind-borne bells, more sweet and low 

And sadder than of yore. 

It conies afar, from that beloved place, 

And that beloved hour, 
"When life hung ripening in love's golden grace, 

Like grapes above a bower. 



A spring goes singing through its reedy grass; 

The lark sings o'er my head, 
Drowned in the sky — 0, pass, ye visions, pass! 

I would that I were dead ! — 

Why hast thou opened that forbidden door, 

From which I ever flee? 
O vanished joy! O love, that art no more, 

Let my vexed spirit be I 

O violet! thy odor through my brain 

Hath searched and stung to grief 
This sunny day, as if a curse did stain 
Thy velvet leaf. 

William Wetmore Story. 
~&^ 



CALM AND STORM ON LAKE LEMAN. 



ffiMLEAR, placid Lcman! thy contrasted lake, 
H|l| With the wild world I dwelt in, is a thing 
<iP Which warns me, with its stillness, to forsake 
|? Earth's troubled waters for a purer spring. 
[ This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing 
To waft me from distraction ; once I loved 
Torn ocean's roar, but thy soft murmuring 
Sounds sweet as if a sister's voice reproved, 
That I with stern delights should e'er have been 
moved. 

It is the hush of night, and all between 
Thy margin and the mountains, dusk, yet clear, 
Mellowed and mingling, yet distinctly seen, 
Save darkened Jura, whose capt heights appear 
Precipitously steep ; and drawing near, 



There breathes a living fragrance from the shore, 
Of flowers yet fresh with childhood ; on the ear 
Drops the light drip of the suspended oar, 
Or chirps the grasshopper one good-night carol more: 

***** 

The sky is changed ! — and such a change ! O night, 
And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong, 
Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light 
Of a dark eye in woman ! Far along, 
From peak to peak, the rattling crags among 
Leaps the live thunder! Not from one lone cloud, 
But every mountain now hath found a tongue, 
And Jura answers, through her misty shroud, 
Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud! 

Lord Byron. 



FREEDOM OF NATURE. 



CABE not, Fortune, what you me deny: 
You cannot rob me of free Nature's grace; 
You cannot shut the windows of the sky, 
Through which Aurora shows her brightening 
face; 



You cannot bar my constant feet to trace 
The woods and lawns, by living stream, at eve; 
Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace, 
And I their toys to the great children leave ; 
Of fancy, reason, virtue, naught can me bereave. 
James Thomson. 



162 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



THREE SUMMER STUDIES. 



<^. MORNING. 

IllpHE cock hath crowed. I hear the doors un- 
gj§|g barred ; 

^T^l^ 9 Down to the grass-grown porch my way I 
U take, 

And hear, heside the well within the yard, 
Full many an ancient quacking, splashing 
drake, 



The tall, green spears, with all their dewy load, 
Which grow beside the well-known pasture-road. 

A humid polish is on all the leaves, — 
The birds flit in and out with varied notes, 

The noisy swallows twitter 'neath the eaves, 
A partridge whistle through the garden floats, 

While yonder gaudy peacock harshly cries, 

As red and gold flush all the eastern skies. 




And gabbling goose, and noisy brood-hen, — all 
Responding to yon strutting gobbler's call. 

The dew is thick upon the velvet grass, 
The porch-rails hold it in translucent drops, 

And as the cattle from the enclosure pass, 
Each one, alternate, slowly halts and crops 



Up comes the sun! Through the dense leaves a spot 
Of splendid light drinks up the dew r ; the breeze 

Which late made leafy music, dies ; the day grows hot, 
And slumbrous sounds come from marauding bees : 

The burnished river like a sword-blade shines, 

Save where 't is shadowed by the solemn pines. 



GLIMPSES OF NATURE. 



163 




164 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



Over the farm is brooding silence now, — 
No reaper's song, no raven's clangor harsh, 

No bleat of sheep, no distant low of cow, 
No croak of frogs within the spreading marsh, 

No bragging cock from littered farmyard crows, — 

The scene is steeped in silence and repose. 

A trembling haze hangs over all the fields, — 

The panting cattle in the river stand, 
Seeking the coolness which its wave scarce yields, 

It seems a Sabbath through the drowsy land ; 
So hushed is all beneath the Summer's spell, 
I pause and listen for some faint church-bell. 

The leaves are motionless, the song-birds mute; 

The very air seems somnolent and sick : 
The spreading branches Avith o'er-ripened fruit 

.Show in the sunshine all their clusters thick, 
"While now and then a mellow apple falls 
With a dull thud within the orchard's walls. 

The sky has but one solitary cloud 

Like a dark island in a sea of ligh.,, 
The parching furrows 'twixt the corn-rows ploughed 

Seem fairly dancing in my dazzled sight, 
While over yonder road a dusty haze 
Grows luminous beneath the sun*s fierce blaze. 



That solitary cloud grows dark and wide, 
While distant thunder rumbles in the air,- 



A fitful ripple breaks the river's tide, — 

The lazy cattle are no longer there, 
But homeward come, in long procession slow, 
With many a bleat and many a plaintive low. 

Darker and wider spreading o'er the west 
Advancing clouds, each in fantastic form, 

And mirrored turrets on the river's breast, 
Tell in advance the coming of a storm, — 

Closer and brighter glares the lightning's flash, 

And louder, nearer sounds the thunder's crash. 

The air of evening is intensely hot, 
The breeze feels heated as it fans my brows, — 

Now sullen rain-drops patter down like shot, 
Strike in the grass, or rattle mid the boughs. 

A sultry lull, and then a gust again, — 

And now I see the thick advancing rain ! 

It fairly hisses as it drives along, 

And where it strikes breaks up in silvery spray 
As if 't were dancing to the fitful song 

Made by the trees, which twist themselves and sway- 
In contest with the wind, that rises fast 
Until the breeze becomes a furious blast. 

And now, the sudden, fitful storm has fled, 
The clouds lie piled up in the splendid west, 

In massive shadow tipped with purplish red, 
Crimson, or gold. The scene is one of rest; 

And on the bosom of yon still lagoon 

I see the crescent of the pallid moon. 

James Barron Hope. 




" And on the bosom of yon still lagoon 
I see the crescent of the pallid moon." 



IMAGINATIVE SYMPATHY WITH NATURE. 



jSrKY, mountains, river, winds, lake, lightnings! ye, 
ly With night, and clouds, and thunder, and a soul 
JL To make these felt and feeling, well may be 
I Things that have made me watchful; the far roll 
Of your departing voices is the knoll 



Of what in me is sleepless — if I rest. 
But where of ye, O tempests ! is the goal? 
Are ye like those within the human breast? 
Or do ye find at length, like eagles, some high nest? 
Lord Byron. 



GLIMPSES OF NATURE. 



165 




SEPTEMBER 



jgWEET is the voice that calls 

From babbling waterfalls -%~^3p^^ ^ f 

In meadows where the downy seeds ^f^f 

are flying ; ^K*^^l§* 

And soft the breezes blow, ' * ' ^-^^ 

And eddying come and go 
In faded gardens where the rose is 
dying. 

Among the stubbled corn 

The blithe quail pipes at morn, 
The merry partridge drums in hidden places, 

And glittering insects gleam 

Above the reedy stream, 
Where busy spiders spin their filmy laces. 

At eve, cool shadows fall 

Across the garden wall, 
And on the clustered grapes to purple turning; 

And pearly vapors lie 

Along the eastern sky, 
Where the broad harvest-moon is redly burning. 



-*- :~^mm 



i^SL 



Ah, soon on field and hill 

The wind shall whistle chill, 
And patriarch swallows call their flocks together, 

To fly from frost and snow, 

And seek for lands where blow 
The fairer blossoms of a balmier weather. 

The cricket chirps all day, 

"O fairest summer, stay! " 
The squirrel eyes askance the chestnuts browning; 

The wild fowl fly afar 

Above the foamy bar, 
And hasten southward ere the skies are frowning. 



166 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



Now comes a fragraut breeze 

Through the dark cedar- trees, 
And round about my temples fondly liugers, 

In gentle playfulness, 

Like to the soft caress 
Bestowed in happier days by loving lingers. 



Yet, though a sense of grief 

Comes with the falling leaf, 
And memory makes the summer doubly pleasant, 

In all my autumn dreams 

A future summer gleams, 
Passing the fairest glories of the present! 

George Arnold. 



§ ■ "J- Af 




FLOWERS. 



WILL not have the mad Clytie, 

Whose head is turned by the sun : 
The tulip is a courtly queen, 

Whom, therefore, I will shun : 
The cowslip is a country wench, 
The violet is a nun ; — 
But I will woo the dainty rose, 
■Pa.e queen of every one. 

The pea is but a wanton witch, 
In too much haste to wed, 

And clasps her rings on every hand ; 
The wolfsbane I should dread; 



Nor will I dreary rosemarye, 

That always mourns the dead; 
But I will woo the dainty rose, 

With her cheeks of tender red. 

The lily is all in white, like a saint, 

And so is no mate for me ; 
And the daisy's cheek is tipped with a blush, 

She is of such low degree ; 
Jasmine is sweet, and has many loves; 

And the broom's betrothed to the bee ; 
But I will plight with the dainty rose, 

For fairest of all is she. 

Tiioiias IIood. 



STARS. 



p5 stars! which are the poetry of heaven, 

If in your bright leaves we would read tbefate 
Of men and empires, — 'tis to be forgiven 
That in our aspirations to be great 
Our destinies o'erleap their mortal state, 



And claim a kindred with you ; for ye are 
A beauty and a mystery, and create 
In us such love and reverence from afar, 
That fortune, fame, power, life, have named them- 
selves a star. 

Lord Byron. 



GLIMPSES OF XATUKE. 



167 




SIGNS OF RAIN. 



! hollow winds begin to blow; 
The clouds look black, the glass is low, 

fThe soot falls down, the spaniels sleep,' 
And spiders from their cobwebs peep. 
Last night the sun went pale to bed, 
The moon in halos hid her head; 
The boding shepherd heaves a sigh, 
For see, a rainbow spans the sky! 
The walls are damp, the ditches smell, 
Closed is the pink-eyed pimpernel. 
Hark how the chairs and tables crack! 
Old Betty's nerves are on the rack; 



Loud quacks the duck, the peacocks cry, 
The distant hills are seeming nigh. 
How restless are the snorting swine ! 
The busy flies disturb the kine, 
Low o'er the grass the swallow wings, 
The cricket, too, how sharp he sings! 
Puss on the hearth, with velvet paws, 
Sits wiping o'er her whiskered jaws; 
Through the clear streams the fishes rise,, 
And nimbly catch the incautious flies. 
The glow-worms, numerous and light, 
Illumed the dewy dell last night; 



.168 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



At dusk the squalid toad was seen, 
Hopping and crawling o'er the green : 
The whirling dust the wind obeys, 
And in the rapid eddy plays ; 
The frog has changed his yellow vest, 
And in a russet coat is dressed. 
Though June, the air is cold and still, 
The mellow blackbird's voice is shrill : 



My dog, so altered in his taste, 

Quits mutton-bones on grass to feast; 

And see yon rooks, how odd their flight I 

They imitate the gliding kite, 

And seem precipitate to fall, 

As if they felt the piercing ball. 

'T will surely rain ; I see with sorrow, 

Our jaunt must be put off to-morrow. 

Edward Jenner. 




"Our jaunt must be put off 



DAFFODILS. 



WANDERED lonely as a cloud 
That floats on high o'er vales and hills, 

When all at once I saw a crowd, 
A host, of golden daffodils, 

Beside the lake, beneath the trees, 

Fluttering, dancing in the breeze. 

Continuous as the stars that shine 
And twinkle on the Milky Way, 

They stretched in never-ending line 
Along the margin of a bay : 

Ten thousand saw I at a glance, 

"Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. 



The waves beside them danced, but they 
Outdid the sparkling waves in glee ; 

A poet could not but be gay 
In such a jocund company; 

I gazed, and gazed, but little thought 

What wealth the show to me had brought : 

For oft, when on my couch I lie, 

la vacant or in pensive mood, 
They flash upon that inward eye 

Which is the bliss of solitude ; 
And then my heart with pleasure fills, 
And dances with the daffodils. 

William Wordsworth. 



GLIMPSES OF NATURE. 



SONNET ON THE RIVER RHINE. 



|WAS morn, and beauteous on the mountain's 
brow 
(Hung with the beamy clusters of the vine) 
Streamed tbe blue light, wben on the sparkling 
Rhine 
We bounded, and tbe wbite waves round the prow 
In murmurs parted. Varying as we go, 
Lo, the woods open, and the rocks retire, 



Some convent's ancient walls or glistening spire 
'Mid the bright landscape's track unfoldiug slow. 
Here dark, with furrowed aspect, like despair, 
Frowns the bleak cliff; there on the woodland's side- 
The shadowy sunshine pours its streaming tide ; 
While Hope, enchanted with the scene so fair, 
Would wish to linger many a summer's day, 
Nor heeds how fast the prospect winds away. 

William Lisle Bowles, 




|pN itself the ocean panorama is very grand. It would be hard to exaggerate the beauty 
e^> of both sea and sky, especially in and near the tropics. The sky near the horizon 
was of pale blue, and often the clouds all round the sea line of a light pink tint, and the 
sea near the ship like an amethyst or the wing of some tropical bird. In those rare times 
when the sea was calm, the motion of the ship made it flow in large sheets as of some oily 
liquid; or, again, like the blue steel of some polished cuirass. 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 

TO THE CUCKOO. 




, beauteous stranger of the grove ! 
rhou messenger of spring ! 
^° Now Heaven repairs thy rural seat, 



Soon as the daisy decks the green, 

Thy certain voice we hear. 
Hast thou a star to guide thy path, 

Or mark the rolling year? 

Delightful visitant! with thee 

I hail the time of flowers, 
And hear the sound of music sweet 

From birds among the bowers. 

The school-boy, wandering through the wood 
To pull the primrose gay, 



Starts, thy most curious voice to hear, 
And imitates thy lay. 

What time the pea puts on the bloom, 

Thou fliest thy vocal vale, 
An annual guest in other lands, 

Another spring to hail. 

Sweet bird ! thy bower is ever green, 

Thy sky is ever clear ; 
Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, 

No winter in thy year ! 

O, could I fly, I'd fly with thee! 

We'd make, with joyful wing, 
Our annual visit o'er the globe, 

Attendants on the spring. 

John Logan. 





MARCH. 



RLAYER of winter, art thou here again? 

§p O welcome, thou that bring'st the summer nigh ! 

X The bitter wind makes not thy victory vain, 

Qf Nor will we mock thee for thy faint blue sky. 

Welcome, O March ! whose kindly days and dry 
Make April ready for the throstle's song, 
Thou first rearesser of the winter's wrong! 

Yea, welcome, March ! and though I die ere June, 
Yet for the hope of life I give thee praise, . . 
Striving to swell the burden of the tune 
That even now I hear thy brown birds raise, 



Unmindful of the past or coming days; 
Who sing, " O joy! a new year is begun! 
What happiness to look upon the sun! " 

O, what begetteth all this storm of bliss, 
But Death himself, who, crying solemnly, 
Even from the heart of sweet Forgetfulness 
Bids us, "Rejoice! lest pleasureless ye die. 
Within a little time must ye go by. 
Stretch forth your open hands, and, while ye live, 
Take all the gifts that Death and Life may give." 
William Morris. 



CLIMPSES OF NATUBE. 



«|p||lIEN that my mood is sad, and in the noise 
$■1112 And bustle of the crowd I feel rebuke, 
^flfe' I turn my footsteps from its hollow joys 
T And sit me down beside this little brook; 

The waters have a music to mine ear 
It glads me much to hear. 

It is a quiet glen, as you may see, 

Shut in from all intrusion by the trees, 

That spread their giant branches, broad and 
free, 
The silent growth of many centuries ; 

And make a hallowed time for hapless moods, 
A sabbath of the woods. 



THE SHADED WATER. 



A gracious couch — the root of an old oak 
Whose branches yield it moss and canopy — 

Is mine, and, so it be from woodman's stroke 
Secure, shall never be resigned by me ; 

It hangs above the stream that idly flies, 
Heedless of any eyes. 

There, with eye sometimes shut, but upward bent, 
Sweetly I muse through many a quiet hour 

While every sense on earnest mission sent, 
Beturns, thought-laden, back with bloom 
flower; 

Pursuing, though rebuked by those who moil, 
A profitable toil. 



and 




11 intrusion by the trees 



Few know its quiet shelter, — none, like me, 
Do seek it oufwith such a fond desire, 

Poring in idlesse mood on flower and tree, 
And listening as the voiceless leaves respire. 

When the far-traveling breeze, done wandering 
Bests here his weary wing. 

And all the day, with fancies ever new, 
And sweet companions from their boundless i 

Of merry elves bespangled all with dew, 
Fantastic creatures of the old-time lore, 

Watching their wild but unobtrusive play, 
I fling the hours away. 



And still the waters, trickling at my feet, 
Wind on their way with gentlest melody, 

Yielding sweet music, which the leaves repeat, 
Above them, to the gay breeze gliding by, — 

Yet not so rudely as to send one sound 
Through the thick copse around. 

Sometimes a brighter cloud than all the rest 
Hangs o'er the archway opening through the trees, 

Breaking the spell that, like a slumber, pressed 
On my worn spirit its sweet luxuries, — 

And with awakened vision upward bent, 
I watch the firmament. 



THE EOYAL GALLEKY. 



How like its sure and undisturbed retreat — 
Life's sanctuary at last, secure from storm — 

To the pure waters trickling at my feet 
The bending trees that overshade my form ! 

So far as sweetest things of earth may seem 
Like those of which we dream. 



Such, to my mind, is the philosophy 

The young bird teaches, who, with sudden fliglit, 
Sails far into the blue that spreads on hio-h. 

Until I lose him from my straining sight. 

With a most lofty discontent to fly 

Upward, from earth to sky. 

William Gilmore Simms. 




" Anil tlie gaunt 
Wrap their old i 



NOVEMBER. 



HJjcHE mellow year is basting to its close; 
gjjjfe The little birds have almost sung their last, 
4K Their small notes twitter in the dreary blast— 

•H That shrill-piped harbinger of early snows; 

The patient beauty of the scentless rose, 
Oft with the Morn's hoar crystal quaintly glassed, 
Hangs, a pale mourner for the summer past, 
And makes a little summer where it grows : — 



In the chill sunbeam of the faint brief day 
The dusky waters shudder as they shine ; 
The russet leaves obstruct the straggling way 
Of oozy brooks, which no deep banks define, 
And the gaunt woods, in ragged, scant array, 
Wrap their old limbs with sombre ivy-twine. 

Hartley Coleeidc 



iS|T seems as if it were Nature's am Sabbath, and the verra waters were at rest. Look 
Hi down upon the vale profound, and the stream is without motion ! No doubt, if you 
were walking along the bank, it would be murmuring with your feet. But here — here up 
amang the hills, we can imagine it asleep, even like the well within reach of my staff. 










DRIFTING. 



GLIMPSES OF NATURE. 



173 



THE SEA -IN CALM AND STORM. 



IIOUS and vast, sublime in all its forms, 
"When lulled by zephyrs, or when roused by 

storms ; 
Its colors changing, when from clouds and sun 
Shades after shades upon the surface run ; 
Embrowned and horrid now, and now serene 
In limpid blue and evanescent green; 
And oft the foggy banks on ocean lie, 
Lift the fair sail, and cheat the experienced eye ! 

Be it the summer noon ; a sandy space 
The ebbing tide has left upon its place ; 
Then just the hot and stony beach above, 
Light, twinkling streams in bright confusion move ; 
(For, heated thus, the warmer air ascends, 
And with the cooler in its fall contends) . 
Then the broad bosom of the ocean keeps 
An equal motion ; swelling as it sleeps, 
Then slowly sinking; curling to the strand, 
Faint, lazy waves o'ercreep the ridgy sand. 



Or tap the tarry boat with gentle blow, 

And back return in silence, smooth and slow, 



"Ships in the calm seem anchored; for they glide 
On the still sea, urged solely by the tide." 



;^5^" ; - ... _ . 



ijyii 




troubled way, 
flutters in the spray. 



174 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



Ships in the calm seem anchored ; for they glide 
On the still sea, urged solely by the tide. 

******* 

View now the winter storm! Above, one cloud, 
Black and unbroken, all the skies o'ershroud; 
The unwieldy porpoise, through the day before, 
Had rolled in view of boding men on shore ; 
And sometimes hid and sometimes showed his form, 
Dark as the cloud, and furious as the storm. 



Raking the rounded flints, which ages past 
Rolled by their rage, and shall to ages last. 

Far off, the petrel, in the troubled way, 
Swims with her brood, or flutters in the spray; 
She rises often, often drops again, 
And sports at ease on the tempestuous main. 

High o'er the restless deep, above the reach 
Of gunner's hope, vast flights of wild-ducks 
stretch ; 



^-SU, 







Their passage tribes of sea-gulls urge." 



All where the eye delights, yet dreads, to roam 
The breaking billows cast the flying foam 
Upon the billows rising — all the deep 
Is restless change — the waves, so swelled and steep, 
Breaking and sinking and the sunken swells, 
TSor one, one moment, in its station dwells : 
But nearer land you may the billows trace, 
As if contending in their watery chase ; 
May watch the mightiest till the shoal they reach, 
Then break and hurry to their utmost stretch ; 
Curled as they come, they strike with furious force, 
-And then, reflowing, take their grating course, 



Far as the eye can glance on either side, 
In a broad space and level line they glide ; 
All in their wedge-like figures from the north, 
Day after day, flight after flight, go forth. 

Inshore their passage tribes of sea-gulls urge, 
And drop for prey within the sweeping surge ; 
Oft in the rough, opposing blast they fly 
Far back, then turn, and all their force apply, 
While to the storm they give their weak, complain- 
ing cry; 
Or clap the sleek white pinion to the breast, 
And in the restless ocean dip for rest. 



GLIMPSES OF NATURE. 



176 



THE MIDG-ES DANCE ABOON THE BURN. 



;HE midges dance aboon the burn; 

The dews begin to fa 1 ; 
The pairtricks down the rushy holm 

Set up their e'ening ca\ 
Now loud and clear the blackbirds sang 

Rings through the briery shaw, 
While, Hitting gay, the swallows play 

Around the castle wa\ 

Beneath the golden gloamin' sky 

The mavis mends her lay; 
The redbreast pours his sweetest strains 

To charm the lingering day ; 



While weary yeldrins seem to wail 

Their little nestlings torn, 
The merry wren, frae den to den, 

Gaes jinking through the thorn. 

The roses fauld their silken leaves, 

The fox-glove shuts its bell ; 
The honeysuckle and the birk 

Spread fragrance through the dell. 
Let others crowd the giddy court 

Of mirth and revelry, 
The simple joys that Nature yields 

Are dearer far to me. 

Robert Tannahiia. 



NATURE'S DELIGHTS. 



MAKER of sweet poets ! dear delight 
Of this fair world and all its gentle livers; 
Spangler of clouds, halo of crystal rivers, 
Mingler with leaves, and dew, and tumbling 
streams ; 

Closer of lovely eyes to lovely dreams ; 
Lover of loneliness and wandering. 
Of upcast eye and tender pondering! — 
Thee must I praise above all other glories 
That smile on us to tell delightful stories; 
For what has made the sage or poet write, 
But the fair paradise of Nature's light? 
In the calm grandeur of a sober line 
We see the waving of the mountain pine ; 



And when a tale is beautifully staid, 

We feel the safety of a hawthorn glade ; 

When it is moving on luxurious wings, 

The soul is lost in pleasant smotherings; 

Fair dewy roses brush against our faces, 

And flowering laurels spring from diamond vases; 

O'erhead we see the jasmine and sweet-brier, 

And bloomy grapes laughing from green attire; 

While at our feet the voice of crystal bubbles 

Charms us at once away from all our troubles; 

So that we feel uplifted from the world, 

Walking upon the white clouds wreathed and curled, 

John Keats. 



HARVEST TIME. 



f'ER all the land, a vision rare and splendid — 
(What time the summer her last glory yields h 
I saw the reapers, by tall wains attended, 
Wave their keen scythes across the ripened 
fields; 
At each broad sweep the glittering grain-stalks parted, 

With all their sunniest lustres earthward bowed, 
But still those tireless blade-curves flashed and darted 
Like silvery lightnings from a golden cloud. 

Then burst from countless throats in choral thunder 

A strain that rose toward the sapphire dome ; — 
Hushed in his lay, the mock-bird heard with wonder 

The resonant gladness of their "Harvest Home," 
And Echo to far fells and forest fountains 

Bore the brave burden that was half divine, 
While the proud crested eagle of the mountains 

Sent back an answer from his eyried pine. 



And still, the tireless steel gleamed in and over 

The bearded cohorts of the rye and wheat, 
Till in long swathes, o'ertopped by perfumed 
clover, 

They slept supinely at the laborer's feet; 
And still that harvest song rolled c n, till even 

Looked wanly forth from night's encircling bars,-« 
When, like a pearl of music, lost in Heaven 

Its sweetness melted in a sea of stars. 

O favored land ! thy bursting barns are laden 

With such fair offspring of thine opulent sod, 
At length thou art a rich Arcadian Adenne, 

Lapped in the bounteous benison of God. 
Pomona vies with Ceres; but less sober, 

Trips down her orchard ways at gleeful ease, 
And in the luminous sunsets of October, 

Shakes the flushed fruitage from her rustling trees. 



176 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



And far as fancy's kindling eyes can follow 

The harvest-landscapes in their hale increase, 
O'er radiant hill-top, and through shadowy hollow, 

Gleams the white splendor of the Plant of Peace. 
Its Dolls, wind-wafted on their airy stations, 

Hold spells of subtlest service, deftly furled — 
Soon to unfold through marvellous transformations, 

And weave their warmth and comfort 'round the 
world ! 

Ah! Christ he praised; where once o'er wold and 
water 

Flashed hack the fury of war's blood-red glare — 
Where once the shrieks of fratricidal slaughter 

Died shuddering on the hot, volcanian air — 



Only the breeze, in frolic charge, advances, 
To stir the tides, or win the f oliaged pass ; 

The sunbeams only smite with wavering 
The frail battalions of the leaves and grass! 

Then let our hearts — 'ere grateful fervor falters — 

To Him, whose love fulfills all pure desire, 
Upwaft, as borne from bright, ethereal altars, 

The glow and grace of sacrificial fire. 
For Plenty smiles alike on cot and palace, 

And Peace, so long to us an unknown guest, 
Pours from the depths of her enchanted chalice 

That heavenly wine which brings the nations resti 

Paul Hamilton Hayne. 



THE EVENING WIND. 



I TRIT that breathest through my lattice : thou 
alls That coolest the twilight of the sultry day ! 

f Gratefully flows thy freshness round my brow; 
Thou hast been out upon the deep at play, 
Riding all day the wild blue waves till now, 

Roughening their crests, and scattering high their 
spray, 
And swelling the white sail. I welcome thee 
To the scorched land, thou wanderer of the sea! 



Go, rock the little wood-bird in his nest; 

Curl the still waters, bright with stars ; and rouse 
The wide old wood from his majestic rest, 

Summoning, from the innumerable boughs, 
The strange deep harmonies that haunt his breast. 

Pleasant shall be thy way where meekly bows 
The shutting flower, and darkling waters pass, 
And where the o'ershadowing branches sweep the 
crass. 




" Thou hast been out upon the deep at play, 
Riding all day the wild blue waves till now, 

Roughening- their crests, and scattering high their spray, 
And swelling the white sail." 



"Not I alone, — a thousand bosoms round 
Inhale thee in the fullness of delight ; 

And languid forms rise up, and pulses bound 
Livelier, at coming of the wind of night ; 

And languishing to hear thy welcome sound, 
Lies the vast inland, stretched beyond the sight. 

Go forth into the gathering shade; go forth, — 

God's blessing breathed upon the fainting earth! 



Stoop o'er the place of graves, and softly sway 
The sighing herbage by the gleaming stone, 

That they who near the churchyard willows stray, 
And listen in the deepening gloom, alone, 

May think of gentle souls that passed away, 
Like thy pure breath, into the vast unknown, 

Sent forth from heaven among the sons of men, 

And gone into the boundless heaven again. 



GLIMPSES OF NATURE. 



177 



The faint old man shall lean his silver head 
To feel thee : thou shalt kiss the child asleep, 

And dry the moistened curls that overspread 
His temples, while his breathing grows more deep ; 

And they who stand about the sick man's bed 
Shall joy to listen to thy distant sweep, 

And softly part his curtains to allow 

Thy visit, grateful to his burning brow. 



Go, — but the circle of eternal change, 
Which is the life of Mature, shall restore, 

With sounds and scents from aU thy mighty range, 
Thee to thy birthplace of the deep once more. 

Sweet odors in the sea air, sweet and strange, 
Shall tell the homesick mariner of the shore; 

And, listening to thy murmur, he shall deem 

He hears the rustling leaf and running stream. 

William Cullen Bryant. 




" Where the giraffes browse 

With stately head, among the forest boughs." 



T .^}^ , 



NATURE'S MAGNIFICENCE. 



^^PHERE the stupendous mountains of the moon 
Mff^ Cast their broad shadows o'er the realms of 

"^if? From rude Caff raria, where the giraffes browse 
With stately beads among the forest boughs, 
To Atlas, where Numidian lions glow 
With torrid lire beneath eternal snow; 



From Nubian hills that hail the dawn of day, 
To Guinea's coast, where evening fades away; 
Regions immense, unsearchable, unknown, 
Bask in the splendor of the solar zone, — 
A world of wonders, where creation seems 
No more the works of Nature, but her dreams. 



17a 



THE KOYAL GALLERY. 



Great, wild and beautiful, beyond control, 

She reigns in all the freedom of her soul ; 

Where none can check her bounty when she showers 

O'er the gay wilderness her fruits and flowers; 

None brave her f ury when, with whirlwind breath 

And earthquake step, she walks abroad with death. 

O'er boundless plains she holds her fiery flight, 

In terrible magnificence of light; 

At blazing noon pursues the evening breeze, 

Through the dim gloom of realm-o'ershadowingtrees ; 



Her thirst at Nile's mysterious fountain quells, 

Or bathes in secresy where Niger swells, 

An inland ocean, on whose jasper rocks 

With shells and sea-flower wreaths she binds her 

locks. 
She sleeps on isles of velvet verdure, placed 
Midst sandy gulphs and shoals for ever waste; 
She guides her countless flocks to cherished rills, 
And feeds her cattle on a thousand hills. 

James Montgomery. 




SPRING. 



down upon the northern shore, 
O sweet new year, delaying long . 
Thou doest expectant Nature wrong; 
Delaying long, delay no more. 

What stays thee from the clouded noons, 
Thy sweetness from its proper place? 
Can trouble live with April days, 

Or sadness in the summer moons? 



Bring orchis, bring the fox-glove spire, 
The little speedwell's darling blue, 
Deep tulips dashed with fiery dew, 

Laburnums, dropping wells oi fire. 

O thou, new year, delaying long, 
Delayest the sorrow in my blood, 
That longs to burst a frozen bud, 

And flood a fresher throat with song. 

Alfred Tennyson. 



|HE SKY — sometimes gentle, sometimes capricious, sometimes awful, never the same 
for two moments together; almost human in its passions, almost spiritual in its 
tenderness, almost divine in its infinity — its appeal to what is immortal in us is as distinct 
as its ministry of chastisement or of blessing to what is mortal, is essential. 



GLIMPSES OF NATUKE. 



m 



IT SNOWS. 



cries the School-boy, "Hurrah ! " and 
eSa his shout 

A Is ringing through parlor and hall, 
; "While swift as the wing of a swallow, he's out, 
And his playmates have answered his call ; 
It makes the heart leap hut to witness then joy ; 
Proud wealth has no pleasure, I trow, 
Like tbe rapture that throbs in the pulse of the boy, 

As he gathers his treasures of snow ; 
Then lay not the trappings of gold on thine heirs, 
While health, and the riches of nature, are theirs. 



And nearer and nearer his soft cushioned chair 
Is wheeled toward the life-giving flame; 

He dreads a chill puff of the snow-burdened air, 
Lest it wither his delicate frame; 

Oh ! small is the pleasure existence can give, 

"When the fear we shall die only proves that we live! 

"It snows! " cries the Travel ,r, " Ho! " and the word 
Has quickened his steed's lagging pace ; 

The Mind rushes by, but its howl is unheard, 
Unfelt the sharp drift in his face; 




n 




«' Proud wealth has no pleasure, I trow, 
Like the rapture that throbs in the pulse of the boy, 
As he gathers his treasures of snow." 



" It snows!" sighs the Imbecile, "Ah!" and his 
breath 

Comes heavy, as clogged with a weight : 
"While, from the pale aspect of nature in death 

He turns to the blaze of his grate ; 



For bright through the tempest his own home 
appeared, 
Ay, through leagues intervened he can see ; 
There's the clear, glowing hearth, and the table 
prepared, 
And his wife with her babes at her knee; 



180 



THE ROYAL GALLEEY. 



Blest thought! how it lightens the grief -laden hour, 
That those we love dearest are safe from its power! 

" It snows! " cries the Belle, "Dear, how lucky! " and 
turns 
From her mirror to watch the flakes fall ; 
Like the first rose of summer, her dimpled cheek 
burns, 
While musing on sleigh-ride and ball : 
There are visions of conquests, of splendor, and 
mirth, 
Floating over each drear winter's day ; 
But the tintings of Hope, ou this storm-beaten earth, 
"Will melt like the snow-flakes away : 



Turn, turn thee to Heaven, fair maiden, for bliss; 
That world has a pure fount ne'er opened in this. 

"It snows! " cries the Widow, "Oh God! " and her 
sighs 
Have stifled the voice of her prayer ; 
Its burden you"ll read, in her tear-swollen eyes, 

On her cheek sunk with fasting and care. 
'Tis night, and her fatherless ask her for bread, 
But " He gives the young ravens their food," 
And she trusts, till her dark hearth adds horror to 
dread, 
And she lays on her last chip of wood. 
Poor sufferer ! that sorrow thy God only knows ; 
"lis a most bitter lot to be poor, when it snows ! 

Mrs. S. J. Hale. 




>V 




SUNRISE AT SEA. 



?HEN the mild weather came, 
And set the sea on flame. 
How often would I rise before the sun, 

And from the mast behold 
The gradual splendors of the sky unfold 
Ere the first line of disk had yet begun, 
Above the horizon's arc, 

To show its flaming gold, 
Across the purple dark! 

One perfect dawn how well I recollect, 
When the whole east was flecked 
With flashing streaks and shafts of amethyst, 
While a light crimson mist 



Went up before the mounting luminary, 
And all the strips of cloud began to vary 
Their hues, and all the zenith seemed to ope 
As if to show a cope beyond the cope ! 

How reverently calm the ocean lay 

At the bright birth of that celestial day! 

How every little vapor, robed in state, 

Would melt and dissipate 
Before the augmenting ray, 

Till the victorious Orb rose unattended, 

And every billow was his mirror splendid ! 

Epes Sargent. 



GLIMPSES OF NATURE. 



181 



INVOCATION TO NATTJKE. 



sflpfARTH, ocean, air, beloved brotherhood ! 
«*?§§> If our great mother have imbued my soul 
^p With aught of natural piety to feel 
f Your love, and recompense the boon with 
» mine ; 

If dewy morn, and odorous noon, and even, 
With sunset and its gorgeous ministers, 
And solemn midnight's tingling silentness; 
If Autumn's hollow sighs in the sere wood, 



And Winter robing with pure snow and crowns 

Of starry ice the gray grass and bare boughs ; 

If Spriug's voluptuous pantings, when she breathes 

Her first sweet kisses, have beeu dear to me ; 

If no bright bird, insect, or gentle beast 

I consciously have injured, but still loved 

And cherished these my kindred ; — then forgive 

This boast, beloved brethren, and withdraw 

No portion of your wonted favor now ! 

Percy Bysshe Shelley. 




TABLE MOUNTAIN, CAPE OF GOOD HOPE. 



||||APE of storms, thy spectre fled, 

f* See, the angel Hope, instead. 
Lights from heaven upon thine head; — 

And where Table-mountain stands; 
Barbarous hordes from desert sands, 
Bless the sight with lifted hands. 



St. Helena's dungeon-keep 
Scowls defiance o'er the deep; 
There a warrior's relics sleep. 

Who he was, and how he fell, 

Europe, Asia, Afric, tell; 

On that theme all time shall dwell. 

James Montgomery. 



jf?HAT is there more sublime than the trackless, desert, all-surrounding, unfathomable 
reHli sea? What is there more peacefully sublime than the calm, gently-heaving, silent 
sea? What is there more terribly sublime than the angry, dashing, foaming sea? Power 
— resistless, overwhelming power — is its attribute and its expression, whether in the 
careless, conscious grandeur of its deep rest, or the wild tumult of its excited wrath. 



182 



THE EOYAL GALLERY. 




"To climb the trackless mountain all unseen 
With the wild flock that never needs a fold ; 
Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean." 

THE POET'S SOLITUDE. 



3B0 sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, 
jf||| To slowly trace the forest's shady scene, 
Z£l 'Where things that own not man's dominion 
^" dwell, 

And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely heen ; 

To climb the trackless mountain all unseen, 

With the wild flock that never needs a fold ; 

Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean, — 

This is not solitude; 'tis but to hold 
Converse with Nature's charms and view her stores 
unrolled. 



But midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men 
To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess, 
And roam along, the world's tired denizen, 
With none who bless us, none whom we can bless; 
Minions of splendor, shrinking from distress ! 
None that, with kindred consciousness endued, 
If we were not, would seem to smile the less 
Of all that flattered, followed, sought and sued; 
This is to be alone ; this, this is solitude ! 

Lord Bykon- 



&S50-. 



OOUNTEY LIFE. 




"But walk'st about thy own dear grounds, 
Not craving others' larger bounds." 

A COUNTRY LIFE. 



gWEET country life, to such unknown, 
y? Whose lives are others', not their own! 
X But serving courts and cities, he 
* Less happy, less enjoying thee. 

Thou never plough'd the ocean's foam, 
To seek and hring rough pepper home ; 
Nor to the eastern Ind dost rove, 
To hring from thence the scorched clove ; 



Nor, with the loss of thy loved rest, 
Bring'st home the ingot from the west. 
No ; thy ambition's masterpiece 
Flies no thought higher than a fleece ; 
Or how to pay thy hinds, and clear 
All scores, and so to end the year; 
But walk'st about thy own dear grounds, 
Not craving others' larger bounds; 



184 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



For 'well thou know'st 'tis not th' extent 
Of land makes life, but sweet content. 
When now the cock, the ploughman's horn, 
Calls for the lily-wristed morn, 
Then to thy corn-fields thou dost go. 
Which, though well soil'd, yet thou dost know 
That the best compost for the lands 
Is the wise master's feet and hands. 
There, at the plough, thou find'st thy team, 
With a hind whistling there to them ; 
And cheer'st them up by singing how 
The kingdom's portion is the plough. 
This done, then to th' enamell'd meads 
Thou go'st; and, as thy foot there treads, 
Thou seest a present god-like power 
Imprinted in each herb and flower; 



For sports, for pageantry, and plays, 
Tbou hast thy eves and holy-days, 
On which the young men and maids meet 
To exercise their dancing feet; 
Tripping the comely country round, 
With daffodils and daisies crown'd. 
Thy wakes, thy quintels, here thou hast, 
Thy May-poles, too, with garlands graced; 
Thy morris-dance, thy Whitsun ale, 
Thy shearing feast, which never fail ; 
Thy harvest-home, thy wassail-bowl, 
That's tost up after fox i' th' hole; 
Thy mummeries, thy twelfth- night kings 
And queens, and Christmas revellings; 
Thy nut-brown mirth, thy russet wit, 
And no man pays too dear for it. 




"And find'st their bellies there as full 
Of short sweet grass, as backs with wool. 



And smell 'st the breath of great-eyed kine, 

Sweet as the blossoms of the vine. 

Here thou behold'st thy large, sleek neat, 

Unto the dewlaps up in meat; 

And, as thou look'st, the wanton steer, 

The heifer, cow, and ox, draw near, 

To make a pleasing pastime there. 

These seen, thou go'st to view thy flocks 
Of sheep, safe from the wolf and fox; 
And find'st their bellies there as full 
Of short sweet grass, as backs with wool; 
And leav'st them, as they feed and fill, 
A shepherd piping on the hill. 



To these thou hast thy time to go, 

And trace the hare in the treacherous snow : 

Thy witty wiles to draw, and get 

The lark into the trammel net; 

Thou hast thy cock rood, and thy glade, 

To take the precious pheasant made ! 

Thy lime-twigs, snares, and pitfalls, then, 

To catch the pilfering birds, not men. 

O happy life, if that their good 

The husbandmen but understood ! 

Who all the day themselves do please, 

And younglings, with such sports as these ; 

And, lying down, have nought t' affright 

Sweet sleep, that makes more short the night. 

Robert Herrick. 



COUNTRY LIFE. 



185 




"Around my ivied porch shall spring- 
Each fragrant flower that drinks the de 



A WISH. 



3INE be a cot beside the hill ; 
g A beehive's hum shall soothe my ear; 
'& A willowy brook that turns a mill 
With many a fall shall linger near. 

The swallow oft beneath my thatch 
Shall twitter from her clay-built nest; 

Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch, 
And share my meal, a welcome guest. 



Around my ivied porch shall spring 
Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew; 

And Lucy at her wheel shall sing 
In russet gown and apron blue. 

The village church, among the trees, 
Where first our marriage vows were given, 

With merry peals shall swell the breeze, 
And point with taper spire to heaven. 

Samuel Rogers. 



IImAN anything be so elegant as to have few wants and serve them one's self? Parched 
HHt corn, and a house with one apartment, that I may be free of all perturbations, that 
I may be serene and docile to what the mind shall speak, and girt and road-ready for the 
lowest mission of knowledge or goodness, is frugality for gods and heroes. 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



TOWN" AND COUNTRY. 



fOD made the country and man made the town. 
What wonder then that health and virtue, gifts 
That can alone make sweet the bitter draught 
That life holds out to all, should most abound 
And least he threatened in the fields and groves? 
Possess ye, therefore, ye who, borne about 
In chariots and sedans, know no fatigue 
But that of idleness, and taste no scenes 
But such as art contrives, possess ye still 
Your element; there only can ye shine; 
There only minds like yours can do no harm. 
Our groves were planted to console at noon 
The pensive wanderer in their shades. At eve 



The moonbeam, sliding softly in between 
The sleeping leaves, is all the light they wish, 
Birds warbling all the music. We can spare 
The splendor of your lamps ; they but eclipse 
Our softer satellite. Your songs coivfound 
Our more harmonious notes : the thrush departs 
Scared, and the offended nightingale is mute. 
There is a public mischief in your mirth; 
It plagues your country. Folly such as yours, 
Graced with a sword, and worthier of a fan, 
Has made, what enemies could ne'er have done, 
Our arch of empire, steadfast hut for you, 
A mutilated structure, soon to fall. 

William Cowter. 



THE HOMESTEAD. 



SilplOMthe old squire's dwelling, gloomy and grand, 
«|| Stretching away on either hand, 
7§f*? Lie fields of broad and fertile land. 

T% Acres on acres everywhere, 

f The look of smiling plenty wear, 

l That tells of the master's thoughtful care. 



Sleek cows down the pasture take their ways, 
Or lie in the shade through the sultry days, 
Idle, and too full-fed to graze. 

Ah ! you might wander far and wide, 
."Nor find a spot in the country's side 
So fair to see as our valley's pride! 



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" And here you will find on everv hand 
Walks and fountains and statues granc 
And trees from many a foreign land." 



Here blossoms the clover, white and red, 
Here the heavy oats in a tangle spread, 
And the millet lifts her golden head ; 

And, ripening, closely neighbored by 
.Fields of barley and pale white rye, 
The yellow wheat grows strong and high. 
And near, untried through the summer days, 
Lifting their spears in the sun's fierce blaze, 
Stand the beftrded ranks of the maize. 
Straying over the side of the hill, 
The sheep run to and fro at will, 
Nibbling of short green grass their fill. 



How, just beyond, if it will not tire 
Your feet to climb this green knoll higher, 
We can see the pretty village spire ; ' 

And, mystic haunt of the whippoorwills, 
The wood, that all the background fills, 
Crowning the tops to the mill-creek hills. 

There, miles away, like a faint blue line, 
Whenever the day is clear and fine, 
You can see the track of a river shine. 

Near it a city hides unseen, 

Shut close the verdant hills between, 

As an acorn set in its cup of green. 



COUNTRY LIFE. 



18? 



And right beneath, at the foot of the hill, 
Th« little creek flows swift and still, 
That turns the wheel of Dovecote mill. 

Nearer the grand old house one sees 

Fair rows of thrifty apple-trees, 

And tall straight pears o'ertopping these. 

And down at the foot of the garden, low, 
On a rustic bench, a pretty show, 
White bee-hives, standing in a row. 



And here you will And on every hand 
Walks and fountains and statues grand, 
And trees from many a foreign land. 

And flowers, that only the learned can name, 
Here glow and burn like a gorgeous flame, 
Putting the poor man's blooms to shame. 
Far away from their native air 
The Norway pines their green dress wear; 
And larches swing their long, loose hair. 




" Though grave an 
But that now, his h 
Is growing white as the ' 



Here trimmed in sprigs, with blossoms, each 

J)f the little bees in easy reach, 

Hang the boughs of the plum and peach. 

At the garden's head are poplars tall, 

And peacocks, making their harsh, loud call, 

Sun themselves all day on the wall. 



Near the porch grows the broad catalpa tree. 
And o'er it the grand wistaria 
Born to the purple of royalty. 

There looking the same for a weary while — 
'Twas built in this heavy, gloomy style — 
Stands the mansion, a grand old pile. 



THE KOYAL GALLEEY. 



Always closed, as it is to-day 

And the proud squire, so the neighbors say, 

Frowns each unwelcome guest away. 



Though some, who knew him long ago, 
If you ask, will shake their heads of snow, 
And tell you he was not always so, 



Thougn grave and quiet at any time, 

But that now, his head in manhood's prime 

Is growing white as the winter's rime. 

Phcebe Cary. 




" His little boys are with him, seeking flowers, 
Or chasing the too venturous gilded fly." 



SUNDAY IN THE FIELDS. 



|l3lf AIL Sabbath! day of mercy, peace, and rest! 
filli Thou o'er loud cities throw'st a noiseless spell; 
#ffy The hammer there, the wheel, the saw, molest 
J»l Pale thought no more. O'er trade's conten- 
tious hell 
Meek Quiet spreads her wings invisible. 
But when thou com'st less silent are the fields, 
Through whose sweet paths the toil-freed towns- 
man steals ; 
To him the very air a banquet yields. 
Envious he watches the poised hawk that Avheels 
His night on chainless winds. Each cloud reveals 



A paradise of beauty to his eye. 
His little boys are with him, seeking flowers, 

Or chasing the too venturous gilded fly ; 
So by the daisy's side he spends the hours, 
Renewing friendship with the budding bowers; 

And — while might, beauty, good without alloy, 
Are mirror'd in his children's happy eyes, 

In His great temple offering thankful joy 
To Him the infinitely Great and Wise, 
With soul attuned to Nature's harmonies, 

Serene and cheerful as a sporting child. 

Ebenezer Elliot. 



The glory of the country is in its homes, which contain the true elements of national 
vitality, and are the embodied type of heaven. 



COUNTRY LIFE. 

BLOSSOM-TIME. 



131 



|HERE'S a wedding in the orchard, dear, 
I know it by the flowers : 
They're wreathed on every bough and branch, 
Or falling down in showers. 

The air is in a mist, I think, 
And scarce knows which to be — 

Whether all fragrance, clinging close, 
Or bird-song, wild and free. 



While whispers ran among the boughs 

Of promises and praise ; 
And playful, loving messages 

Sped through the leaf-lit ways. 

And just beyond the wreathed aisles 

That end against the blue, 
The raiment of the wedding-choir 

And priest came shining through. 




' There's a wedding in the orchard, dear, 
I know it by the flowers." 



And countless wedding-jewels shine, 
And- golden gifts of grace : 

I never saw such wealth of sun 
In any shady place. 

It seemed I heard the flutt'ring robes 
Of maidens clad in white, 

The clasping of a thousand hands 
In tenderest delight; 



13 



And though I saw no wedding-guest, 

jSTor groom, nor gentle bride, 
I know that holy things were asked, 

And holy love replied. 

And something through the sunlight said: 

"Let all who love be blest! 
The earth is wedded to the spring — 

And God, He knoweth best." 

Mary E. Dodge. 



190 



THE ROYAL GALLERY 



THE PRAISE OF A SOLITARY LIFE. 



gHRICE happy he who by some shady grove, 
Far from the clamorous world, doth live his 

own. 
Thou solitary, who is not alone, 
But doth converse with that eternal love, 
O how more sweet is bird's harmonious moan, 
Or the hoarse sobbings of the widow'd dove, 
Than those smooth whisperings near a prince's 
throne, 



Which good make doubtful, do the evil approve! 
O how more sweet is Zephyr's wholesome breath, 
And sighs embalm'd which new-born flowers 

unfold, 
Than that applause vain honor doth bequeath! 
How sweet are streams to poison drank in gold ! 
The' world is full of horror, troubles, slights : 
Woods' harmless shades have only true delights. 
William Drummond. 




THE OLD MILL. 



fESIDE the stream the grist-mill stands, 

I With bending roof and leaning wall ; 

» So old, that when the winds are wild, 

The miller trembles lest it fall : 

And yet it baffles wind and rain, 

Our brave old Mill, and will again. 



From morn to night in Autumn time, 
When harvests fill the neighboring plains, 

Up to the mill the farmers drive, 
And back anon with loaded wains : 

And when the children come from school 

They stop and watch its foamy pool. 



Its dam is steep, and hung with weeds: 
The gates are up, the waters pour, 

And tread the old wheels slippery round, 
The lowest step forever o'er 

Methinks they fume, and chafe with ire, 

Because they cannot climb it higher. 



The mill inside is small and dark ; 

But peeping in the open door 
You see the miller flitting round, 

The dusty bags along the floor. 
The whirling shaft, the clattering spout, 
And the yellow meal a-pouring out! 



COUNTRY LIFE. 191 

All day the meal is floating there, - The mill is crumbling in decay, 

Rising and falling in the breeze; And I — my hair is early gray. 
And when the sunlight strikes its mist 

It glitters like a swarm of bees : I stand beside the stream of life, 
•Or like the cloud of smoke and light And watch the current sweep along: 

Above a blacksmith's forge at night. And when the flood-gates of my heart 

Are raised, it turns the wheel of song : 

I love our pleasant, quaint old Mill, Eut scant ^ as yet> the harves t brought 

It still recalls my boyish prime ; From out the goldeu fields of Thought. 
'Tis changed since then, and so am I, 

We both have known the touch of time : Richard Henry Stoddard. 



FAEMI^G. 

|?HILE the city is refreshed and renovated by the pure tides poured from the 
country into its steamy and turbid channels, the cultivation of the soil affords 
. U at home that moderate excitement, healthful occupation, and reasonable return, 
11 which most conduce to the prosperity and enjoyment of life. It is, in fact, 
the primitive employment of man, — first in time, first in importance. The 
newly-created father of mankind was placed by the Supreme Author of his being in the 
garden which the hand of Omnipotence itself had planted, "to dress and to keep it." 
Before the heaving bellows had urged the furnace, before a hammer had struck upon an 
anvil, before the gleaming waters had flashed from an oar, before trade had hung up its 
scales or gauged its measures, the culture of the soil began. "To dress the garden and 
to keep it!" — This was the key-note struck by the hand of God himself in that long, 
joyous, wailing, triumphant, troubled, pensive strain of life-music which sounds through 
the generations and ages of our race. Banished from the garden of Eden, man's merciful 
sentence — at once doom, reprieve and livelihood — was "to till the ground from which he 
was taken, : ' and this, in its primitive simplicity, was the occupation of the gathering 
societies of men. 

To this wholesome discipline the mighty East, in the days of her ascendency, was 
trained ; and so rapid was her progress that in periods anterior to the dawn of history she 
had tamed the domestic animals, had saddled the horse, and yoked the ox, and milked the 
cow, and sheared the patient sheep, and possessed herself of most of the cereal grains 
which feed mankind at the present day. I obtained from the gardens of Chatsworth, and 
sent to this country, where they germinated, two specimens of wheat raised from grains 
supposed to have been wrapped up in Egyptian mummy-cloths 3,000 years ago, and not 
materially differing from our modern varieties; one of them, indeed, being precisely 
identical — thus affording us the pleasing assurance that the corn which Joseph placed in 
Benjamin s sack before the great pyramid was built was not inferior to the best of the 
present day. 

Edward Everett. 



I would rather sit on a pumpkin and have it all to myself, than to be crowded on 
a velvet cushion. 



192 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



TWO PICTUBES. 



old farm-house with meadows wide 
And sweet with clover on each side ; 
A hright-eyed hoy, who looks from out 
The door with woodhine wreathed about, 
And wishes his one thought all day : 
" Oh, if I could but fly away 

From this dull spot, the world to see, 
How happy, happy, happy, 

How happy I should be! " 



Amid the city's constant din, 
A man who round the world has been, 
Who, mid the tumult and the throng, 
Is thinking, thinking, all day long : 
" Oh, could I only tread once more 

The field-path to the farm-house door, 
The old green meadow could I see, 

How happy, happy, happy, 
How happy I should be!" 

Marion Douglass. 




" Still where he treads the stubborn clods divide, 
The smooth, fresh furrow opens deep and wide." 



THE PLOUGHMAN. 



fLEAR the brown path to meet his coulter's gleam ! 
Lo ! on he comes, behind his smoking team, 
With toil's bright dew-drops on his sunburnt 
brow, 
The lord of earth, the hero of the plough ! 

First in the field before the reddening sun, 
Last in the shadows when the day is done, 
Line after line, along the bursting sod, 
Marks the broad acres where his feet have trod. 
Still where he treads the stubborn clods divide, 
The smooth, fresh furrow opens deep and wide ; 
Matted and dense the tangled turf upheaves, 
Mellow and dark the ridgy corn-field cleaves ; 



Up the steep hillside, where the laboring train 
Slants the long track, that scores the level plain, 
Through the moist valley, clogged with oozing 

clay, 
The patient convoy breaks its destined way; 
At every turn the loosening chains resound. 
The swinging ploughshare circles glistening round, 
Till the wide field one billowy waste appears, 
And wearied hands unbind the panting steers. 

These are the hands whose sturdy labor brings 
The peasant's food, the golden pomp of kings; 
This is the page whose letters shall be seen, 
Changed by the sun to words of living green; 



COUNTRY LIFE. 



192 



This is the scholar whose immortal pen 
Spells the first lesson hunger taught to men; 
These are the lines that heaven-commanded Toil 
Shows on his deed, — the charter of the soil! 

O gracious Mother, whose benignant breast 
Wakes us to life, and lulls us all to rest, 
How thy sweet features, kind to every clime, 
Mock with their smile the wrinkled front of Time I 
"We stain thy flowers, — they blossom o'er the dead; 
We rend thy bosom, and it gives us bread ; 
O'er the red field that trampling strife has torn, 
Waves the green plumage of thy tasselled corn ; 
Our maddening conflicts scar thy fairest plain, 
Still thy soft answer is the growing grain. 
Yet, O our Mother, while uncounted charms 
Steal round our hearts in thine embracing arms, 
Let not our virtues in thy love decay, 
And thy fond sweetness waste our strength away. 



No, by these hills whose banners now displayed 
In blazing cohorts Autumn has arrayed ; 
By yon twin summits, on whose splintery crests 
The tossing hemlocks hold the eagles' nests ; 
By these fair plains the mountain circle screens, 

And feeds with streamlets from its dark ravines 

True to their home, these faithful arms shall toil 
To crown with peace their own untainted soil; 
And, true to God, to freedom, to mankind, 
If her chained ban-dogs Faction shall unbind, 
These stately forms, that, bending even now, 
Bowed their strong manhood to the humble plough, 
Shall rise erect, the guardians of the land, 
The same stern iron in the same right hand, 
Till o'er their hills the shouts of triumph run, — 
The sword has rescued what the ploughshare won ! 
Oliver Wendell Holmes. 




"To walk in the air how pleasa 



THE USEFUL PLOUGH. 



I COUNTRY life is sweet! 
! In moderate cold and heat, 

To walk in the air how pleasant and fair! 
In every field of wheat, 

The fairest flowers adorning the bowers, 
And every meadow's brow; 
So that I say, no courtier may 
Compare with them who clothe in gray, 
And follow the useful plough. 



They rise with the morning lark, 
And labor till almost dark, 

Then, folding their sheep, they hasten to sleep 
While every pleasant park 

Next morning is ringing with birds that are singing 
On each green, tender bough. 

With what content and merriment 

Their days are spent, whose minds are bent 
To follow the useful plough. 



"Wearines 



s can snore upon the flint, when restive sloth finds the clown pillow hard. 



194 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 







COUNTRY LIFE. 195 

COUNTRY LIFE. 

merchant tempts mc with his gold, What is to mo the city s pride? 

The gold he worships night and day ; The haunt of luxury and pleasure ; 

He bids me leave this dreary wold, Those fields and hills, this wild brookside, 

And come into the city gay. To me are better beyond measure. 

I will not go ; I won't be sold ; Mid country scenes I'll still abide ; 

I scorn his pleasures and array ; With country life and country leisure, 

I'll rather bear the country's cold, Content, whatever may betide, 

Than from its freedom walk away. With common good instead of treasure. 



THE CITY AID THE COUNTKY. 

HE Reverend Robert Collyer made the remark on one occasion that during his twenty- 
years' residence in Chicago he had not known of a single man who had come 
prominently to the front in any pursuit who was born and bred in a large city. 
The leading men in every calling — judges, lawyers, clergymen, editors, merchants, 
and so on — had been reared in the countiy, away from the follies, the vices and the 
enervating influences that are known to exist in all large towns. Fashion reduces all 
young men and women to the same dull and uninteresting level. New York is now an 
old city. It has produced generations of men. How few of them have ever made 
their mark, there or elsewhere ! It cannot be said that they go into other parts of the 
countiy and there develop the higher forms of manhood. They are never heard of 
except in the aggregated, concrete form of "our fellow-citizens." How much of a 
man is due to qualities born in him, and how much to his early environment, no 
philosopher has been able to tell us; but it is impossible to conceive of a sagacious 
intellect like that of Lincoln, of a glorious mind like Webster's, emerging from the 
false glitter and noisy commotion of the city. We think of Washington, the patrician 
sage, pacing among the stately oaks of old Virginia; of Jefferson in his country-seat, 
and of John Adams tilling his farm in Massachusetts. These men, it is true, flourished 
at a time when there were no large cities in the United States. But later on we see 
Lincoln and Garfield reaching the topmost round of fame's ladder from the obscurity 
of country homes. Not one American President, from first to last, was born in a city. 



THE HAYMAKERS. 

SOWN" on the Merrimac Eiver, The good wife, up the river, 

While the autumn grass is green, Has made the oven hot, 

Oh, there the jolly hay-men ■ And with plenty of pandowdy 

In their gundalows are seen ; Has filled her earthen pot. 

Floating down, as ebbs the current, Their long oars sweep them onward, 

And the dawn leads on the day, As the ripples round them play, 

With their scythes and rakes all ready, And the jolly hay-men drift along 

To gather in the hay. To make the meadow hay. 



196 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



At the bank-side then they moor her, 

Where the sluggish waters run, 
By the shallow creek's low edges, 

Beneath the fervid sun — 
And all day long the toilers 

Mow their swaths, and day by day, 
You can see their scythe-blades flashing 

At the cutting of the hay. 

When the meadow-birds are flying, 
Then down go scythe and rake, 

And right and left their scattering shots 
The sleeping echoes wake — 



For silent spreads the broad expanse, 

To the sand-hills far away, 
And thus they change their work for sport. 

At making of the hay. 

When the gundalows are loaded — 

Gunwales to the water's brim — 
With their little square-sails set atop, 

Up the river how they swim ! 
At home, beside the fire, by night, 

While the children round them play, 
What tales the jolly hay-men tell 

Of getting in the hay .' 

George Ltjnt. 




THE SONG OF THE MOWERS. 



fE are up and away, ere the sunrise hath kissed 
In the valley below us, that ocean of mist, 
Ere the tops of the hills have grown bright in 

With our scythes on our shoulders, we're up 
and away. 

The freshness and beauty of morning are ours, 
The music of birds and the fragrance of flowers ; 
And our trail is the first that is seen in the dew. 
As our pathway through orchards and lanes we pursue. 



Hurrah ! here we are ! now together, as one, 
Give your scythes to the sward, and press steadily on; 
All together, as one, o'er the stubble we pass, 
With a swing and a ring of the steel through the 
grass. 

Before us the clover stands thickly and tall, 
At our left it is piled in a verdurous wall; 
And never breathed monarch more fragrant perfumes 
Than the sunshine distills from its leaves and its 
blooms. 



COUNTRY LIFE. 



197 



Invisible censers around us are swung, 
And anthems exultant from tree-tops are flung; 
And 'mid fragrance and music and beauty we share 
The jubilant life of the earth and the air. 

Letthe priest and the lawyer grow pale in their shades, 
And the slender young clerk keep his skin like a 
maid's; 



We care not, though dear Mother Nature may bronze 
Our cheeks with the kiss that she gives to her sons. 

Then cheerly, boys, cheerly ! together, as one, 
Give your scythes to the sward, and press steadily on; 
All together, as one, o'er the stubble we pass, 
With a swing and a ring of the steel through the grass. 
William Henry Burleigh. 




THE CORNFIELD. 



|001Sr as the morning trembles o'er the sky, 
I And, unperceived, unfolds the spreading day, 

Before the ripened field the reapers stand. 

At once they stoop and swell the lusty sheaves, 



While through their cheerful band the rural talk, 
The rural scandal, and the rural jest, 
Fly harmless, to deceive the tedious time, 
And steal unf elt the sultry hours away. 

James Thomsox 



SHE t»ds you on the wanton rushes lay you down, 
<s§§ And rest your gentle head upon her lap, 
And she will sing the song that pleaseth you, 
And on your eyelids crown the god of sleep, 
■Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness; 



Making such difference betwixt wake and sleep 
As is the difference betwixt day and night, 
The hour before the heavenly-harnessed team 
Begins his golden progress in the east. 



198 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



THE MOWERS. 



l||j|iHERE mountains round a lonely dale 
lUISf? Our cottage-roof enclose, 
^iifk Come night or morn, the hissing pail 
JJ With yellow cream o'erflows; 

And roused at break of day from sleep, 

And cheerly trudging hither — 
A scythe-sweep, and a scythe-sweep, 
We mow the 2,'rass together. 



Gay sunlights o'er the hillocks creep, 

And join for golden weather — 
A scythe-sweep, and a scythe-sweep, 

We mow the dale together. 
The good-wife stirs at Ave, we know, 

The master soon comes round, 
And many swaths must lie a-row 

Ere breakfast-horn shall sound; 





; : ! 



"A scyfhe-sweep, and a scythe-sweep, 
We mow the grass together." 



The fog drawn up the mountain -side 
And scattered flake by flake, 

The chasm of blue above grows wide, 
And richer blue the lake ; 



The clover and the florin deep, 
The grass of silvery feather — 

A scythe-sweep and a scythe-sWeep, 
We mow the dale together. 



COUNTRY LIFE. 



199 



The noon-tide brings its welcome rest 

Our toil-wet brows to dry ; 
Anew with merry stave and jest 

The shrieking hone we ply. 
White falls the brook from steep to steep 

Among the purple heather — 
A scythe-sweep, and a scythe-sweep, 

We mow the dale together. 



For dial, see, our shadows turn ; 

Low lies the stately mead ; 
A scythe, an hour-glass, and an urn — 

All flesh is grass, we read. 
To-morrow's sky may laugh or weep, 

To Heaven we leave it, whether— 
A scythe-sweep, and a scythe-sweep, 

We've done our task together. 

William Allinghah. 




WHEN THE COWS COME HOME. 



LOVE the beautiful evening 

When the sunset clouds are gold; 
1 When the barn-fowls seek a shelter 

And the young lambs seek their fold: 
When the four-o'-clocks are open. 

And the swallows homeward come ; 
When the horses cease their labors, 

And the cows come home. 

When the supper's almost ready, 

And Johnny is asleep, 
And I beside the cradle 

My pleasant vigil keep : 
Sitting beside the window 

Watching for "Pa" to come. 
While the soft bells gently tinkle 

As the cows come home. 



When the sunset and the twilight 

In mingling hues are blent, 
I can sit and watch the shadows 

With my full heart all content : 
And I wish for nothing brighter, 

And I long no more to roam 
When the twilight's peace comes o'er me, 

And the cows come home. 

I see their shadows lengthen 

As they slowly cross the field, 
And I know the food is wholesome 

Which their generous udders yield. 
More than the tropic's fruitage, 

Than marble hall or dome, 
Are the blessings that surround me 

Wheu the cows come home. 

Mary E. Neatj 



200 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



COME TO THE SUNSET TREE. 



|OME to the sunset tree ! 

The day is past and gone; 
The woodman's ax lies free, 
And the reaper's work is done. 

The twilight star to heaven, 
And the summer dew to flowers 

And rest to us is given 

By the cool, soft evening hours. 



Come to the sunset tree ! 

The day is past and gone ; 
The woodman's ax lies free, 

And the reaper's work is done. 

Yes ; tuneful is the sound 

That dwells in whispering boughs ; 
Welcome the freshness round, 

And the gale that fans our brows. 




iP^ 



ome to the sunset tree, 
The day is past and goi 



Sweet is the hour of rest! 

Pleasant the wind's low sigh. 
And the gleaming of the west, 

And the turf whereon we lie. 

When the burden and the heat 
Of labor's task are o'er, 

And kindly voices greet 
The tired one at his door. 



But rest more sweet and still 
Than ever nightfall gave, 

Our longing hearts shall All 
In the world beyond the grave» 

There shall no tempest blow, 
No scorching noontide heat; 

There shall be no more snow, 
No weary wandering feet. 



COUNTRY LIFE. 



201 



And we lift our trusting eyes, 
From the hills our fathers trod, 

To the quiet of the skies, 
To the Sabbath of our God. 



Come to the sunset tree ! 

The day is past and gone ; 
The woodman's ax lies free, 

And the reaper's work is done ! 

Felicia Dorothea Hemans. 



MY LITTLE BROOK. 



LITTLE brook half hidden under trees, — 

It gives me peace and rest the whole day 

through, 
Having this little brook to wander to, 
So cool, so clear, with grassy banks and these 
Sweet miracles of violets 'neath the trees. 



And yet the waves they come I know not whence,. 
And they Mow on from me I know not whither, 
Sometimes my fancy pines to follow thither; 
But I can only see the forest dense, — 
Still the brook flows I know not where nor 
whence. 




"I sit here by the stream in full content.' 



There is a rock where I can sit and see 
The crystal ripples dancing down and racing, 
Like children round the stones each other chasing, 

Then for a moment pausing seriously. 

In a dark mimic pond that I can see. 

The rock is rough and broken on its edge 
With jutting corners, but there come alway 
The merry ripples with their tiny spray, 
To press it ere they flow on by the sedge, 
They never fail the old rock's broken edge. 

I sit here by the stream in full content, 
It is so constant, and I lay my hand 
Down through its waters on the golden sand, 
And watch the sunshine with its shallows blent, 
Watch it with ever-growing, sweet content. 



Who knows from what far hills it threads its way, 
What mysteries of cliffs and pines and skies 
O'erhang the spot where its first fountains rise, 
What shy wild deer may stoop to taste its spray, 
Through w r hat rare regions my brook threads its way .. 

I only see the trees above, below, 
Who knows through what fair lands the stream may 

run, 
What children play, what homes are built thereon, 

Through what great cities broadening it may go? — 

I only see the trees above, below. 

What do I care? I pause with full content, 

My little brook beside the rock to see, 

What it has been or what it yet may be, 
Naught matters, I but know that it is sent 
Flowing my way, and I am well content. 

Mary Bolles Branch^ 



202 



THE ROYAL GALLEEY. 



A HARVEST HYMN. 



jjfa. 



REAT GOD ! — our heart-felt thanks to Thee ! 

We feel thy presence everywhere; 
And pray, that we may ever be 

Thus objects of thy guardian care. 

We sowed ! — by Thee our work was seen, 
And blessed ; and instantly went forth 

Thy mandate; and in living green 
Soon smiled the fair and fruitful earth. 



We toiled! — and Thou didst note our toil; 

And gav'st the sunshine and the rain, 
Till ripened on the teeming soil 

The fragrant grass, and golden grain. 

And now, we reap ! — and oh, our God ! 

From this, the earth's unbounded floor, 
We send our Song of Thanks abroad, 

And pray Thee, bless our hoarded store! 

W. D. Gallagher. 




THE OLD HOUSE. 



'M standing by the window-sill, 

Where we have stood of yore ; 
The sycamore is waving still 

Its branches near the door; 
And near me creeps the wild-rose vine 

On which our wreaths were hung, — 
Still round the porch its tendrils twine, 

As when we both were young. 

The little path that used to lead 

Down by the river shore 
Is overgrown with brier and weed — 

Not level as before. 



But there's no change upon the hill, 

From whence our voices rang — 
The violets deck the summit still, 

As when we both were young. 

And yonder is the old oak-tree, 

Beneath whose spreading shade, 
When our young hearts were light and free, 

In innocence we played ; 
And over there the meadow gate 

On which our playmates swung, 
Still standing in its rustic state, 

As when we both were young. 

Louisa Chandler Mottlton. 



COUNTRY LIFE. 



203 



RURAL NATURE. 



fHEEE art thou loveliest, O Nature, tell ! 
Oh, where may be thy Paradise? Where grow 
Thy happiest groves? And down what woody 

Do thy most fancy-winning waters flow? 



Eternal summer, while the air may quell 
His fury. Is it 'neath his morning car, 
Where jeweled palaces, and golden thrones, 
Have awed the Eastern nations through all time? 
Or o'er the Western seas, or where afar 




"And down what woody dell 
nost fancy-winning waters flow? " 



Tell where thy softest breezes longest blow? 
And where thy ever blissful mountains swell 
Upon whose sides the cloudless sun may throw 



Our winter sun warms up the southern zones 
With summer? Where can be the happy climes? 

William Baknes. 



walk with the breeze upon one's brow, to trample the level grass exuberant 
, with freshness, to climb upon the mountain, to follow through the meadows 
some thread of water gliding under rushes and water-plants, — I give you my 
word for it, there is happiness in this. At this contact with healthy and natural 
things, the follies of the world drop off as drop the dead leaves when the spring saj, 
rises and the young leaves put forth. 



204 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



THE FARMER'S BOY 



appLED now the sullen murmurs of the north, 
^S The splendid raiment of the Spring peeps forth ; 
"I^S" 3 Her universal green and the clear sky 

| Delight still more and more the gazing eye. 

1 "Wide o'er the fields, in rising moisture stroug, 
Shoots up the simple flower, or creeps along 
The mellowed soil, imbibing fairer hues 
Or sweets from frequent showers and evening dews 
That summon from their sheds theslumberingploughs, 
"While health impregnates every breeze that blows. 
No wheels support the diving, pointed share; 
If o groaning ox is doomed to labor there ; 



Welcome, green headland! Arm beneath his feet! 
Welcome, the friendly bank's refreshing seat; 
There, warm with toil, his panting horses browse 
Their sheltering canopy of pendant boughs ; 
Till rest delicious chase each transient pain, 
And new-born vigor swell in every vein. 
Hour after hour, and day to day succeeds, 
Till every clod and deep->drawn furrow spreads 
To crumbling mould, — a level surface clear, 
And strewed with corn to crown the rising year; 
And o'er the whole, Giles, once transverse again, 
In earth's moist bosom buries up the grain. 




ducks and turkeys thr 



No helpmates teach the docile steed his road 

(Alike unknown the ploughboy and the goad) : 

But unassisted, through each toilsome day, 

With smiling brow the ploug \man cleaves his way, 

Draws his fresh parallels, and, widening still. 

Treads slow the heavy dale, or climbs the hill. 

Strong on the wing his busy followers play, 

Where writhing earthworms meet the unwelcome day, 

Till all is changed, and hill and level down 

Assume a livery of sober brown ; 

Again disturbed, when Giles with wearying strides 

From ridge to ridge the ponderous harrow guides. 

His heels deep sinking, every step he gees, 

Till dirt adhesive loads his clouted shoes. 



The work is done ; no more to man is given ; 
The grateful farmer trusts the rest to Heaven. 

His simple errand done, he homeward hies; 
Another instantly its place supplies. 
The clattering dairy-maid, immersed in steam, 
Singing and scrubbing midst her milk and cream, 
Bawls out, "Go fetch the cows!"— he hears no 

more ; 
For pigs and ducks and turkeys throng the door, 
And sitting hens for constant war prepared, — 
A concert strange to that which late he heard. 
Straight to the meadow then he whistling goes ; 
"With well-known halloo calls his lazy cows ; 







"#fes 



LAST Sunday, clear, me thought 
Was dreaming mine own dree 
of balm. 




bowei 



That spiced the rich Pacific — even- palm- 
Smiled with the dream that lends my life its smiled! 




<\ 



waves," I said, 
•ping the coral 



pile 



Make music like a well-remembered psalri 
Surely an English summer, breathing ca 
Broods in each tropic dell, each flowery aisl 




The hcav'ns were dreaming, too, <>f Englis 

Upon the blue, within a belt of grey, 
A village spire was pictured far away; 
And then I heard the psalm begin to rise, 
And saw the meadow — smelt the new-mc 



mm 



' v ^^-V_v 



COUNTRY LIFE. 



205 



Down the rich pasture heedlessly they graze, 

Or hear the summons with an idle gaze. 

For well they know the cow-yard yields no 

more 
Its tempting fragrance, nor its wintry store. 
Reluctance marks their steps, sedate and slow, 
The right of conquest all the law they know; 
The strong press on, the weak by turns succeed, 
And one superior always takes the lead, 
Is ever foremost whereso'er they stray, 
Allowed precedence, undisputed sway: 
With jealous pride her station is maintained, 
For many a broil that post of honor gained. 
At home, the yard affords a grateful scene, 
For spring makes e'en a miry cow-yard clean. 
Thence from its chalky bed behold conveyed 
The rich manure that drenching winter made, 
Which, piled near home, grows green with many 

a weed, 
A promised nutriment for autumn's seed. 



Forth comes the maid, and like the morning smiles; 

The mistress, too, and followed close by G-iles. 

A friendly tripod forms their humble seat, 

With pails bright scoured and delicately sweet. 

Where shadowing elms obstruct the morning ray 

Begins the work, begins the simple lay; 

The full-charged udder yields its willing stream 

While Mary sings some lover's amorous dream; 

And crouching Giles, beneath a neighboring tree, 

Tugs o'er his pail and chants with equal glee; 

Whose hat with battered brim, and nap so bare, 

From the cow's side purloins a coat of hair,— 

A mottled ensign of his harmless trade, 

An unambitious, peaceable cockade. 

As unambitious, too, that cheerful aid 

The mistress yields beside her rosy maid ; 

With joy she views her plenteous reeking store, 

And bears a brimmer to the dairy door; 

Her cows dismissed, the luscious mead to roam, 

Till eve again recall them loaded home. 

Robert Bloomfield. 



FAEM-YARD SONG. 



SB the hills the farm-boy goes, 

His shadow lengthened along the land, 

A giant staff in a giant hand ; 

In the poplar tree, above the spring, 

The katydid begins to sing ; 

The early dews are falling ; — 
Into the stone-heap darts the mink; 
The swallows skim the river's brink ; 
And home to the woodland fly the crows, 
When over the hill the farm-boy goes, 
Cheerily calling, — 
"Co', boss! co', boss! co'! co'! co'! 
Farther, farther, over the hill, 
Faintly calling, calling still. — 

"Co', boss! co", boss! co'! co'! " 



Now to her task the milkmaid goes, 

The cattle come crowding through the gate, 

Lowing, pushing, little and great; 

About the trough, by the farm-yard pump, 

The frolicsome yearlings frisk and jump, 

While the pleasant dews are falling; 
The new-milch heifer is quick and sh} r , 
But the old cow waits with tranquil eye; 
And the white stream into the bright pail flows, 
When to her task the milkmaid goes, 

Soothingly calling,— 
"So, boss! so, boss! so! so! so!" 
The cheerful milkmaid takes her stool, 
And sits and milks in the twilight cool, 

Saving, "So! so, boss! so! so!" 



Into the yard the farmer goes, 

With grateful heart, at the close of day; 

Harness and chain arc hung away; 

In the wagon-shed stand yoke and plough; 

The straw's in the stack, the hay in the mow, 

The cooling dews are falling ; — 
The friendly sheep his welcome bleat, 
The pigs come grunting to his feet, 
The whinnying mare her master knows, 
When into the yard the farmer goes, 

His cattle calling, — 
"Co', boss! co', boss! co'! co'! co'!" 
While still the cow-boy, far away, 
Goes seeking those that have gone astray, — 
"Co', boss! co', boss! co'! co'!" 



To supper at last the farmer goes, 
The apples are pared, the paper read, 
The stories are told, then all to bed. 
Without, the cricket's ceaseless song 
Makes shrill the silence all night long; 

The heavy dews are falling. 
The housewife's hand has turned the lock; 
Drowsily ticks the kitchen clock; 
The household sinks to deep repose ; 
But still in sleep the farm-boy goes 

Singing, calling, — 
"Co', boss! co', boss! co'! co'! co'! " 
And oft the milkmaid in her dreams 
Drums in the pail with the flashing streams, 

Murmuring, "So, boss! so! " 

John Townsend Trowbridge. 



206 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



HARVEST SONG. 



LOVE, I love to see 

Bright steel gleam through the laud ; 
'Tis a goodly sight, but it must he 

In the reaper's tawny hand. 

The helmet and the spear 

Are twined with the laurel wreath ; 
But the trophy is wet with the orphan's tear: 

And blood-spots rust beneath. 

I love to see the field 

That is moist with purple stain, 
But not where bullet, sword and shield 

Lie strewn with the gory slain. 

No, no; 'tis where the sun 
Shoots down his cloudless beams, 

Till rich and bursting juice-drops run 
Ou the vineyard earth in streams. 

My glowing heart beats high 

At the sight of shining gold; 
But it is not that which the miser's eye 

Delighteth to behold. 

A brighter wealth by far 
Than the deep mine's yellow vein, 



Is seen around in the fair hills crowned 
With sheaves of burnished grain. 

Look forth thou thoughtless one, 

Whose proud knee never bends; 
Take thou the bread that's daily spread, 

But think on Him who sends. 

Look forth, ye toiling men, 

Though little ye possess, — 
Be glad that dearth is not on earth 

To make that little less. 

Let the song of praise be poured 

In gratitude and joy, 
By the rich man with his garners stored 

And the ragged gleaner-boy. 

The feast that Nature gives 

Is not for one alone ; 
'Tis shared by the meanest slave that lives 

And the tenant of a throne. 

Then glory to the steel 

That shines in the reaper's hand. 
And thanks to Him who has blest the seed 

And crowned the harvest land. 

Eliza Cook. 



THE FARMER'S WIFE. 



»|flRD-LIKE she's up at day-dawn's blush, 
epr? ; In summer heats or winter snows — 
K Her veins with healthful blood allush, 
Her breath of balm, her cheek a rose, 




" Homeward (his daily labors 
The stalwart farmer slowly pic 



In eyes — the kindest eyes on earth — 
Are sparkles of a homely mirth ; 



Demure, arch humor's ambush in 
The clear curves of her dimpled chin. 
Ah! guileless creature, hale and good, 
Ah! fount of wholesome womanhood, 
Far from the world's unhallowed strife! 
God's blessing on the farmer's wife. 

I love to mark her matron charms, 

Her fearless steps through household ways, 
Her sun-burnt hands and buxom arms, 

Her waist unbound by torturing stays; 
Blithe as a bee, with busy care, 
She's here, she's there, she's everywhere; 
Long ere the clock has struck for noon 
Home chords of toil are all in tune ; 
And from each richly bounteous hour 
She drains its use, as bees a flower. 
Apart from Passion's pain and strife. 
Peace gently girds the Farmer's Wife! 

Homeward (his daily labors done) 
The stalwart farmer slowly plods, 

From battling, between shade and sun, 
With sullen glebe and stubborn sods. 

Her welcome on his spirit bowed 

Is sunshine flashine; on a cloud! 



COUNTKY LIFE. 



207 



AH vanished is the brief eclipse ! 
Hark ! to the sound of wedded lips, 
And words of tender warmth that start 
From out the husband's grateful heart! 
O ! well he knows how vain is life, 
Unsweetened by the Farmer's Wife. 

But lo ! the height of pure delight 

Comes with the evening's stainless joys, 
When by the hearthstone spaces bright 

Blend the glad tones of girls and boys ; 
Their voices rise in gleeful swells, 
Their laughter rings like elfin bells, 
Till with a look 'twixt smile and frown 
The mother lays her infant down, 
And at her firm, uplifted hand, 
There's silence 'mid the jovial band; 



Her signal stills their harmless strife — 
Love crowns with law the Farmer's Wife I 

Ye dames in proud, palatial halls — 
Of lavish wiles and jeweled dress, 
On whom, perchance, no infant calls 
(For barren oft your loveliness) — 
Turn hitherward those languid eyes 
And for a moment's space be wise ; 
Your sister 'mid tbe country dew 
Is three times nearer Heaven than you, 
And where the palms of Eden stir, 
Dream not that ye shall staud by her, 
Though in your false, bewildering life, 
Your folly scorned the Farmer's Wife ! 

Paul Hamilton Hayne. 



THE PUMPKIN. 



GBEENLY and fair in the lands of the sun, 
The vines of the gourd and the rich melon run, 
And the rock and the tree and the cottage enfold, 
With broad leaves all greenness and blossoms all 
gold, 

Like that which o'er Nineveh's prophet once grew, 
While he waited to know that his warning was true, 
And longed for the storm-cloud, and listened in vain 
For the rush of the whirlwind and red fire-rain. 

On the banks of the Xenil, the dark Spanish maiden 
Comes up with the fruit of the tangled vine laden ; 
And the Creole of Cuba laughs out to behold 
Through orange-leaves shining the broad spheres of 

gold; 
Yet with dearer delight from his home in the North, 
On the fields of his harvest the Yankee looks forth, 
Where crook-necks are coiling and yellow fruit shines, 
And the sun of September melts down on his vines. 

Ah ! on Thanksgiving Day, when from East and from 

West, 
From North and from South come the pilgrim and 

guest, 
When the grey -haired New-Englander sees round his 

board 
The old broken links of affection restored, 



When the care-wearied man seeks his mother once 

more, 
And the worn matron smiles where the girl smiled 

before, 
What moistens the lip and what brightens the eye? 
What calls back the past, like the rich pumpkin-pie? 

O, fruit loved of boyhood! the old days recalling; 
When wood-grapes were purpling and brown nuts 

were falling ! 
When wild, ugly faces we carved in its skin, 
Glaring out through the dark with a candle within ! 
When Ave laughed round the corn-heap, with hearts 

all in tune, 
Our chair a broad pumpkin, our lantern the moon, 
Telling tales of the faiiy who traveled like steam 
In a pumpkin-shell coach, with two rats for her team ! 

Then thanks for thy present!— none sweeter or better 
E'er smoked from an oven or circled a platter! 
Fairer hands never wrought at a pastry more fine, 
Brighter eyes never watched o'er its baking than thine I 
And the prayer, which my mouth is too full to express, 
Swells my heart that thy shadow may never be less, 
That the days of thy lot may be lengthened below, 
And the fame of thy worth like a pumpkin-vine grow, 
And thy life be as sweet, and its last sunset sky 
Golden-tinted and fair as thy own pumpkin-pie! 

John Greenleaf Whittier. 



HEAR the wood-thrush piping one mellow des- 
cant more, 

And scent the flowers that blow when the heat of 
day is o'er. 



f ATH not old custom made this life more sweet 
1 Than that of painted pomp? Are not these 
woods 
More free from perils than the envious court? 



208 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



ROBERT OF LINCOLN. 



gERRILY swinging on briar and weed, 
Near to the nest of his little dame, 
Over the mountain-side or mead, 
Robert of Lincoln is telling his name : 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink; 
Snug and safe is that nest of ours, 
Hidden among the summer flowers. 

Chee, chee, ehee. 



Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife. 

Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings, 
Passing at home a patient life, 
Broods in the grass while her husband sings 5 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link 
Spink, spank, spink; 
Brood, kind creature ; you need not fear 
Thieves and robbers while I am here. 
Chee, chee, chee. 




Robert of Lincoln is telling his i 



Robert of Lincoln is gayly dressed. 

Wearing a bright black wedding coat; 
White are his shoulders and white his crest 
Hear him call in his merry note : 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink ; 
Look, what a nice new coat is mine, 
Sure there was never a bird so fine. 

Chee, chee, chee. 



Modest and shy as a nun is she, 

One weak chirp is her only note, 
Braggart and prince of braggarts is he y 
Pouring boasts from his little throat: 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink; 
Never was I afraid of man ; 
Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you canr 
Chee, chee, chee. 



COUNTRY LIFE. 



20V 



Six white eggs on a bed of hay, 

Flecked with purple, a pretty sight: 
There as the mother sits all day, 
Robert is singing with all his might : 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink; 
Nice good wife, that never goes out, 
Keeping house while I frolic about. 

Chee, chee, chee. 

Soon as the little ones chip the shell 

Six wide mouths are open for food; 
Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well, 
Gathering seed for the hungry brood. 
Bob-o'-link. bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink; 
This new life is likely to be 
Hard for a gay young fellow like me. 
Chee, chee, chee. 



Robert of Lincoln at length is made 

Sober with work, and silent with care ; 
Off is his holiday garment laid, 
Half forgotten that merry air, 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink; 
Nobody knows but my mate and I 
Where our nest and our nestlings lie. 
Chee, chee, chee. 

Summer wanes; the children are grown; 

Fun and frolic no more he knows ; 
Robert of Lincoln 's a humdrum crone ; 
Off he flies, and we sing as he goes : 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink; 
When you can pipe that merry old strain, 
Robert of Lincoln, come back again. 
Chee, chee, chee. 
William Cullen Bryant. 



ON THE BANKS OF THE TENNESSEE. 



I SIT by the open window 
» And look to the hills away, 
Over beautiful undulations 

That glow with the flowers of May — 
And as the lights and the shadows 

With the passing moments change, 
Conies many a scene of beauty 

Within my vision's range — 
But there is not one among them 

That is half so dear to me, 
As an old log-cabin I think of 

On the banks of the Tennessee. 

Now up from the rolling meadows, 

And down from the hill-tops now. 
Fresh breezes steal in at my window. 

And sweetly fan my brow — 
And the sounds that they gather and bring 
me, 

From rivulet, and meadow, and hill. 
Come in with a touching cadence, 

And my throbbing bosom fill — 
But the dearest thoughts thus wakened, 

And in tears brought back to me, 
Cluster round that old log-cabin 

On the banks of the Tennessee. 

To many a fond remembrance 

My thoughts are backward cast, 
As I sit by the open window 

And recall the faded past — 
For all along the windings 

Of the ever-moving years. 
Lie wrecks of hope and of purpose 

That I now behold through tears — 



And of all of them, the saddest 
That is thus brought back to me, 

Makes holy that old log-cabiu 
On the banks of the Tennessee. 




On tin- I. .ink-. Ml the IV ll lie 



Glad voices now greet me daily, 

Sweet faces I oft behold, 
Y"et I sit by the open window, 

And dream of the times of old — 
Of a voice that on earth is silent, 

Of a face that is seen no more, 
Of a spirit that faltered not ever 

In the struggle of days now o'er — 
And a beautiful grave comes pictured 

Forever and ever to me. 
From a knoll near that old log-cabin 

On the banks of the Tennessee. 

W. D. Gallagher. 



210 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



SUMMER LONGINGS. 



my heart is weary waiting, 
Waiting for the May, — 
Waiting for the pleasant rambles 
Where the fragrant hawthorn-brambles, 
With the woodbine alternating, 

Scent the dewy way. 
Ah ! my heart is weary waiting, 
Waiting for the May. 

Ah! my heart is sick with longing, 
Longing for the May, — 
Longing to escape from study, 
To the young face fair and ruddy, 
And the thousand charms belonging 

To the summer's day. 
Ah ! my heart is sick with longing, 
Longing for the May. 

Ah ! my heart is sore with sighing, 
Sighing for the May, — 
Sighing for their sure returning, 
When the summer beams are burning, 



Hopes and flowers that, dead or dying, 

All the winter lay. 
Ah! my heart is sore with sighing, 

Sighing for the May. 

Ah! my heart is pained with throbbing. 
Throbbing for the May, — 
Throbbing for the seaside billows, 
Or the water-wooing willows; 
Where, in laughing and in sobbing, 

Glide the streams away. 
Ah ! my heart, my heart is throbbing, 
Throbbing for the May. 

Waiting sad, dejected, weary, 
Waiting for the May : 
Spring goes by with wasted warnings, — 
Moonlit evenings, sunbright mornings, — • 
Summer comes, yet dark and dreary 

Life still ebbs away ; 

Man is ever weary, weary, 

Waiting for the May! 

Denis Florence Mac-Caktiiy, 



FAEM. LIFE. 



AGRICULTURE is the greatest among the arts, for it is first in supplying our 
necessities. It is the mother and nurse of all other arts. It favors and 
strengthens population; it creates and maintains manufactures, gives employment 
R to navigation and materials to commerce. It animates every species of industry, 
and opens to nations the surest channels of opulence. It is also the strongest bond of 
well regulated society, the surest basis of internal peace, the natural associate of good 
morais. 

We ought to count among the benefits of agriculture the charm which the practice of 
it communicates to a country life. That charm which has made the country, in our own 
view, the retreat of the hero, the asylum of the sage, and the temple of the historic 
muse. The strong desire, the longing after the country, with which we find the bulk of 
mankind to be penetrated, points to it as the chosen abode of sublunary bliss. The sweet 
occupations of culture with her varied products and attendant enjoyments are, at 
least, a relief from the stifling atmosphere of the city, the monotony of subdivided 
employments, the anxious uncertainty of commerce, the vexations of ambition so 
often disappointed, of self-love so often mortified, of factitious pleasures and un- 
substantial vanities. 

We deplore the disposition of young men to get away from their farm homes to 
our larger cities, where they are subject to difficulties and temptations, which, but too 
often, they fail to overcome. 

Depend upon it, if you would hold your sons and brothers back from roaming 



COUNTRY LIFE. 



211 



away into the perilous centres, you must steadily make three attempts — to abate the 
taskwork of farming, to raise maximum crops and profits, and to surround your work 
with the exhilaration of intellectual progress. You must elevate the whole spirit of your 
vocation for your vocation's sake, till no other can outstrip it in what most adorns 
and strengthens a civilized state. 




■ rjfo, 



SUMMER WOODS. 



>HE ceaseless hum of men, the dusty streets, 
I Crowded with multitudinous life; the din 
Of toil and traffic, and the woe and sin, 
The dweller in the populous city meets : 
These have I left to seek the cool retreats 
Of the untrodden forest, where, in bowers 
Builded by Nature's hand, inlaid with flowers, 



And roofed with ivy, on the mossy seats 
Reclining, I can while away the hours 
In sweetest converse with old books, or give 
My thoughts to God; or fancies fugitive 
Indulge, while over me their radiant showers 
Of rarest blossoms the old trees shake down, 
And thanks to Him my meditations crown ! 

William Henry Burleigh. 



212 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



THE VILLAGE BOY. 



|REE from the cottage corner, see how wild 
The village boy along the pasture hies, 
With every smell, and sound, and sight beguiled, 
That round the prospect meets his wondering 
eyes; 
Now, stooping, eager for the cowslip peeps, 

As though he'd get them all, — now tired of these, 
Across the flaggy brook he eager leaps, 
For some new flower his happy rapture sees ; — 



Now, leering 'mid the bushes on his knees 
On woodland banks, for blue-bell flowers he 
creeps ; — 

And now, while looking up among the trees, 
He spies a nest, and down he throws his flowers, 

And up he climbs with new-f ed»ecstasies ; 
The happiest object in the summer hours. 

Clakke. 




THE BAREFOOT BOY. 



ppfLESSINGS on thee, little man. 
lilt Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan 
ff^ With thy turned-up pantaloons, 
.J4, And thy merry whistled tunes ; 
With thy red lip, redder still 
Kissed by strawberries on the hill ; 



With the sunshine on thy face, 

Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace! 

From my heart I give thee joy : 

I was once a barefoot boy. 

Prince thou art — the grown-up man 

Only is republican. 



COUNTEY LIFE. 



213 



Let the million-dollared ride ! 
Barefoot, trudging at his side, 
Thou hast more than he cau buy, 
In the reach of ear and eye : 
Outward sunshine, inward joy. 
Blessings on thee, barefoot boy ! 

O ! for boyhood's painless play, 
Sleep that wakes in laughing day, 
Health that mocks the doctor's rules, 
Knowledge never learned of schools : 



Where the ground-nut trails its vine, 

Where the wood-grape's clusters shine: 

Of the black wasp's cunning way, 

Mason of his walls of clay, 

And the architectural plans 

Of gray hornet artisans ! 

For, eschewing books and tasks, 

Nature answers all he asks ; 

Hand in hand with her he walks, 

Face to face with her he talks, 




histled tunes.'' 



Of the wild bee's morning chase. 
Of the wild flower's time and place. 
Flight of fowl, and habitude 
Of the tenants of the wood; 
How the tortoise bears his shell. 
How the woodchuck digs his cell. 
And the ground-mole sinks his well; 
How the robin feeds her young, 
How the oriole's nest is hung; 
Where the whitest lilies blow. 
Where the freshest berries grow, 



Part and parcel of her joy. 
Blessings on the barefoot boy! 

for boyhood's time of June, 
Crowding years in one brief moon, 
When all things I heard or saw, 
Me, their master, waited for! 

1 was rich in flowers and trees, 
Humming-birds and honey-bees ; 
For my sport the squirrel played, 
Plied the snouted mole his spade; 



214 



THE ROYAL GALLERY, 



For my taste the blackberry cone 
Purpled over hedge and stone ; 
Laughed the brook for my delight, 
Through the day and through the night: 
Whispering at the garden wall, 
Talked with me from fall to fall ; 
Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond, 
Mine the walnut slopes beyond, 
Mine, on bending orchard trees, 
Apples of Hesperides! 
Still, as my horizon grew, 
Larger grew my riches too, 
All the world I saw or knew 
Seemed a complex Chinese toy, 
Fashioned for a barefoot boy ! 

O, for festal dainties spread, 
Like my bowl of milk and bread, 
Pewter spoon and bowl of wood, 
On the door-stone, gray and rude! 
O'er me, like a regal tent, 
Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent: 
Purple-curtained, fringed with gold, 
Looped in many a wind-swung fold; 
While, for music, came the play 
Of the pied frogs' orchestra ; 



And, to light the noisy choir, 
Lit the tly his lamp of fire. 
I was monarch ; pomp and joy 
Waited on the barefoot boy ! 

Cheerily, then, my little man ! 
Live and laugh as boyhood can ; 
Though the flinty slopes be hard, 
Stubble-speared the new-mown sward, 
Every morn shall lead thee through 
Fresh baptisms of the dew ; 
Every evening from thy feet 
Shall the cool wind kiss the heat; 
All too soon these feet must hide 
In the prison-cells of pride, 
Lose the freedom of the sod, 
Like a colt's for work be shod, 
Made to tread the mills of toil, 
Up and down in ceaseless moil: 
Happy if their track be found 
Never on forbidden ground ; 
Happy if they siuk not in 
Quick and treacherous sands of sin. 
Ah ! that thou couldst know thy joy, 
Ere it passes, barefoot boy! 

John Green leaf Whittier. 



THE COUNTRY LIFE. 



gOT what we would, but what we must, 
Makes up the sum of living; 
Heaven is both more and less than just 

In taking and in giving. 
Swords cleave to hands that sought the plough, 
And lam-els miss the soldier's brow. 

Me, whom the city holds, whose feet 

Have worn its stony highways, 
Familiar with its loneliest street — 

Its ways were never my ways. 
My cradle was beside the sea, 
And there, I hope, my grave will be. 

Old homestead ! In that old, gray town, 

Thy vane is seaward blowing, 
The slip of garden stretches down 

To where the tide is flowing : 
Below they lie, their sails all furled, 
The ships that go about the world. 

Dearer that little country house, 

Inland, with pines beside it; 
Some peach-trees, with unfruitful boughs, 

A well, with weeds to hide it : 
No flowers, or only such as rise 

Self-sown, poor things, which all despise. 



Dear country home! Can I forget 

The least of thy sweet trifles? 
The window-vines that clamber yet, 

Whose bloom the bee still rifles? 
The roadside blackberries, growing ripe, 
And in the woods the Indian Pipe? 

Happy the man who tills his fleld, 

Content with rustic labor; 
Earth does to him her fulness yield, 

Hap what may to his neighbor. 
Well days, sound nights, oh, can there be 
A life more rational and free? 

Dear country life of child and man ! 

Forboth the best, the strongest, 
That with the earliest race began, 

And hast outlived the longest: 
Their cities perished long ago ; 
Who the ttrst farmers were we know. 

Perhaps our Babels too will fall ; 

If so, no lamentations, 
For Mother Earth will shelter all, 

And feed the unborn nations; 
Yes, and the swords that menace now, 

Will then be beaten to the plough. 

Richard Henry Stoddard, 



COUNTEY LIFE. 



215 



HAPPY THE MAN WHOSE WISH AND CARE. 



>PY the man whose wish and care 
A few paternal acres bound, 
Content to breathe his native air 
In his own ground. 

Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, 

Whose flocks supply him with attire ; 
Whose trees in summer yield him shade, 
In winter, fire. 

Blest, who can unconcern'dly find 
Hours, days, and years slide soft away 



In health of body, peace of mind, 
Quiet by day, 

Sound sleep by night ; study and ease 
Together mixed ; sweet recreation, 
And innocence, which most does please 
With meditation. 

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown; 

Thus unlamented let me die ; 
Steal from the world, and not a stone 
Tell where I lie. 

Alexander Pope, 




' Th e pomp of gr 



ind garniture of fields.' 



CONTENTMENT WITH NATURE. 



fEBERAL, not lavish, is kind Nature's hand ; 
Nor was perfection made for man below : 
Yet all her schemes with nicest art are planned, 
Good counteracting ill, and gladness woe. 
With gold and gems if Chilian mountains glow, 
If bleak and barren Scotia's hills arise, 
There plague and poison, lust and famine, grow; 
Here peaceful are the vales and pure the skies, 
And freedom fires the soul and sparkles in the eyes. 

Then grieve not, thou, to whom the indulgent Muse, 
Vouchsafes a portion of celestial fire ; 
Nor blame the partial Fates, if they refuse 
The imperial banquet and the rich attire : 
Know thine own worth, and reverence the lyre. 



Wilt thou debase the heart which God refined? 
No; let thy Heaven-taught soul to Heaven aspire, 
To fancy, freedom, harmony, resigned ; 
Ambition's grovelling crew forever left behind. 

O, how canst thou renounce the boundless store 
Of charms which Nature to her votary yields! 
The warbling woodland, the resounding shore, 
The pomp of groves, and garniture of fields ; 
All that the genial ray of morning gilds, 
And all that echoes to the song of even, 
All that the mountain's sheltering bosom shields, 
And all the dread magnificence of heaven, 
O, how canst thou renounce, and hope to be for- 
given ! 

James Beattie. 



21*3 



THE EOYAL GALLEEY. 




COUNTRY LIFE. 



2J7 



NIGHTFALL: A PICTURE. 



r OW burns the summer afternoon ; 
A mellow lustre lights the scene ; 
And from its smiling beauty soon 
The purpling shade will chase the sheen. 

The old, quaint homestead's windows blaze ; 

The cedars long black pictures show ; 
And broadly slopes one path of rays 

Within the barn, and makes it glow. 

The loft stares out— the cat intent, 
Like carving, on some gnawing rat — 

With sun-bathed hay and rafters bent, 
Nooked, cobwebbed homes of wasp and bat. 

The harness, bridle, saddle dart 
Gleams from the lower, rough expanse ; 

At either side the stooping cart, 
Pitchfork, and plow cast looks askance. 

White Dobbin through the stable doors 
Shows his round shape; faint color coats 

The mangei-, where the farmer pours, 
With rustling rush, the glancing oats. 

A sun haze streaks the dusky shed ; 

Makes spears of seams and gems of chinks ; 
In mottled gloss the straw is spread; 

And the grey grindstone dully blinks. 

The sun salutes the lowest west 
With gorgeous tints around it drawn; 

A beacon on the mountain's breast, 
A crescent, shred, a star — and gone. 

The landscape now prepares for night; 

A gauzy mist slow settles round; 
Eve shows her hues in eveiy sight, 

And blends her voice with every sound. 

The sheep stream rippling down the dell, 
Their smooth, sharp faces pointed straight; 

The pacing kine, with tinkling beh, 

Come grazing through the pasture gate. 

The ducks are grouped, and talk in fits ; 
One yawns with stretch of leg and wing ; 



One rears and fans, then, settling, sits ; 
One at a moth makes awkward spring. 

The geese march grave in Indian file, 
The ragged patriarch at the head ; 

Then, screaming, nutter off awhile, 
Fold up, and once more stately tread. 

Brave chanticleer shows haughtiest air ; 

Hurls his shrill vaunt with lofty bend; 
Lifts foot, glares round, then follows where 

His scratching, picking partlets wend. 

Staid Towser scents the glittering ground ; 

Then, yawning, draws a crescent deep, 
Wheels his head-drooping frame around 

And sinks with forepaws stretched for sleep. 

The oxen, loosened from the plow, 

Rest by the pear-tree's crooked trunk ; 

Tim, standing with yoke-burdened brow, 
Trim, in a mound beside him sunk. 

One of the kine upon the bank, 
Heaves her face-lifting, wheezy roar; 

One smooths, with lapping tongue, her Hank; 
With ponderous droop one finds the floor. 

Freed Dobbin through the soft, clear dark 
Glimmers across the pillared scene, 

With the grouped geese — a pallid mark — 
And scattered bushes black between. 

The fire-flies freckle every spot 
With fickle light that gleams and dies; 

The bat, a wavering, soundless blot, 
The cat, a pair of prowling eyes. 

Still the sweet, fragrant dark o'crflows 
The deepening air and darkening ground, 

By its rich scent I trace the rose, 
The viewless beetle by its sound. 

The cricket scrapes its rib-like bars ; 

The tree-toad purrs in whirring tone; 
And now the heavens are set with stars, 

And night and quiet reign alone. 

Alfred B. Street. 



fUT now the scene is changed, and all 
? Is fancifully new; 
The trees, last eve, so straight and tall, 

Are bending on the view, 
And streams of living daylight fall 
The silvery arches through. 



The boughs are strong with glittering pear':. 
As dewdrops bright and bland, 

And there they gleam in silvery curls, 
Like gems of Samarcand, 

Seeming in wild fantastic whirls 
The works of fairyland. 



218 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



THE HOUSE ON" THE HILL. 



|ROM the weather-worn house on the hrow of 
the hill 
We are dwelling afar, in our manhood, to-day ; 
But we see the old gables and hollyhocks still, 
As they looked long ago, ere we wandered 
away; 



"We can hear the sharp creak of the farm-gate again, 
And the loud, cackling hens in the gray barn near by, 

With its hroad sagging floor and its scaffolds of grain, 
And its rafters that once seemed to reach to the sky; 

We behold the great beams, and the bottomless bay 

Where the farm -boys once joyfully jumped on the hay. 




ii^./) 



" From the weather-worn house on the brow of the hill 
We are dwelling afar, in our manhood, to-day; 

But we see the old gables and hollyhocks still, 
As they looked long- ago, ere we'wandered away." 



We can see the tall well-sweep that stands by the door, 
And the sunshine that gleams on the old oaken floor. 

We can hear the low hum of the hard-working bees 
At their toil in our father's old orchard, once more, 

In the broad, trembling tops of the bright-blooming 
trees, 
As they busily gather their sweet winter store ; 

And the murmuring brook, the delightful old horn, 

And the cawing black crows that are pulling the corn. 



We can see the low hog-pen, just over the way, 
And the long-ruined shed by the side of the road, 

Where the sleds in the summer were hidden away 
And the wagons and plows in the winter were 
stowed ; 

And the cider-mill, down in the hollow below, 
With a long, creaking sweep, the old horse used to 
draw, 

Where we learned by the homely old tub long ago, 

What a world of sweet rapture there was in a straw,- 



COUNTRY LIFE. 



219 



From the cider-casks there, loosely lying around, Where we sowed, where we hoed, where we cradled 

More leaked from the bung-holes than dripped on the and mowed, 

ground. Where we scattered the swaths thatwere heavy with 

dew, 

We behold the bleak hillsides still bristlingwith rocks, Where we tumbled, we pitched, and behind the tall 

Where the mountain streams murmured with musical load 

sound, The broken old bull -rake reluctantly drew. 

Where we hunted and fished, where we chased the How Ave grasped the old " Sheepskin " with feelings oi 

red fox, scorn 

With lazy old house-dog or loud-baying hound ; As we straddled the back of the old sorrel mare, 




'And the cold, cheerless woods we delighted to tramp." 



And the cold, cheerless woods we delighted to tramp 
For the shy, whirring partridge, in snow to our 
knees, 
Where, with neck-yoke and pails, in the old sugar- 
camp, 
We gathered the sap from the tall maple-trees ; 
And the fields where our plows danced a furious jig, 

While Ave wearily folloAved the furroAV all day, 
Where Ave stumbled and bounded o'er boulders so 
big 
That it took twenty oxen to draAv them aAvay; 



And rode up and down through the green rows of 
corn, 
Like a pin on a clothes-line that sways in the air, 
We can hear our stern fathers reproving us still, 
As the careless old creature "comes down on a 
hill." 

We are far from the home of our boyhood to-day, 
In the battle of life Ave are struggling alone ; 

The Aveather-Avorn farmhouse has gone to decay, 
The chimney has fallen, its SAvalloAvs have fioAvn, 



220 



THE EOYAL GALLERY. 



But Fancy yet brings, on her bright golden wings, 
Her beautiful pictures again from the past, 

And Memory fondly and tenderly clings 
To pleasures and pastimes too lovely to last. 

We wander again by the river to-day; 

We sit in the school-room, o'erflowing with fun, 
We whisper, we play, and we scamper away 

When our lessons are learned and the spelling is 
done. 

We see the old cellar where apples were kept, 
The garret where all the old rubbish was thrown, 

The little back chamber where snugly we slept, 
The homely old kitchen, the broad hearth of stone, 

Where apples were roasted in many a row, 

Where our grandmothers nodded and knit long ago. 

Our grandmothers long have reposed in the tomb ; 
With a strong, healthy race they have peopled the 
land; 
They worked with the spindle, they toiled at the 
loom, 
Nor lazily brought up their babies by hand. 

The old flint-lock musket, whose awful recoil 
Made many a Nimrod with agony cry, 

Once hung on the chimney, a part of the spoil 
Our gallant old grandfathers captured at "Ti." 

Brave men were our grandfathers, sturdy and strong; 
The kings of the forest they plucked from their 

lands ; 
They were stern in their virtues, they hated all wrong, 
And they fought for the right with their hearts and 

theh: hands. 



Down, down from the hillsides they swept in their 
might, 

And up from the valleys they went on their way, 
To fight and to fall upon Hubbardton's height, 

To struggle and conquer in Bennington's fray. 

Oh ! fresh be their memory, cherished the sod 
That long has grown green o'er their sacred 
remains, 

And grateful our hearts to a generous God 
For the blood and the spirit that flows in our veins. 

Our Aliens, our Starks, and our Warners are gone, 
But our mountains i-emain with their evergreen 
crown. 

The souls of our heroes are yet marching on, 
The structure they founded shall never go down. 

From the weather-worn house on the brow of the hill 
We are dwelling afar, in our manhood to-day; 

But we see the old gables and hollyhocks still, 
As they looked when we left them to wander away. 

But the dear ones we loved in the sweet long ago 

In the old village churchyard sleep under the snow. 

Farewell to the friends of our bright boyhood days, 

To the beautiful vales once delightful to roam, 
To the fathers, the mothers, now gone from our 
gaze, 
From the weather-worn house to their heavenly 
home, 
Where they wait, where they watch, and will welcome 

us still, 
As they waited aud watched in the house on the hill. 

Eugene J, Hall. 




FREEDOM AND PATRIOTISM. 



OUR OWN COUNTRY. 



CRE is a land, of every land the pride, 
Beloved by Heaven o'er all the world beside, 
Where brighter suns dispense serener light; 
And milder moons imparadise the night; 
Aland of beauty, virtue, valor, truth, 
Time-tutored age, and love-exalted youth : 
There is a spot of earth supremely blest, 
A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest, 



Where man, creation's tyrant, casts aside 
His sword and sceptre, pageantry and pride, 
While in his softened looks benignly blend 
The sire, the son, the husband, brother, friend. 
Where shall that land, that spot of earth be found? 
Art thou a man? — a patriot? — look arouud; 
O, thou shalt find, howe'er thy footsteps roam, 
That land thy country, and that spot thy home ! 

James Montgomery. 



THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER. 



In the month of September, iSi4, the city of Baltimore was threatened by the approach of a British fleet. The chief defense of 
the city was Fort McHenry, which on tire 13th became the object of a powerful attack. This attack was witnessed, under most 
remarkable circumstances, by Francis Scott Key, the author of the following song. A friend was heUl prisoner in Uie hands of the 
British. To effect his release, Mr. Key visited the squadron in a cartel, or vessel sent for the exchange of prisoners, and was 
detained by the Admiral till the termination of the attack. Placed on board a small vessel, he remained for a whole day a spectator 
of the tremendous cannonading to which the fort was subjected. On its successful resistance depended the fate of his home and 
friends. All day his eyes watched that low fortification. Night came, and in spite of all the efforts of the enemy the flag of his 
country was still flying defiantly in the rays of the setting sun. The bombardment continued through the night, and all the while 
the sleepless watcher paced the deck, straining his eyes to discern, through the smoke and darkness, if the flag was still there. By 
the fitful and lurid gleams of exploding shells, the Stars and Stripes were from time to time revealed to his eager gaze, and gave 
cheer to the anxious hours. 

Morning came. It found him with eyes still fastened on the fort. The star-spangled banner floated proudiy in the morning 
breeze, and the echoes of defiant cheers were borne from the fort to his ears. At the same moment the outburst of cannon and the 
thunder of mortars proclaimed that the spirits and courage of iis df fenders were buoyant as ever. The attack had been foiled; 
his home, his friends were saved. It was a proud moment; and his emotions found utterance in the picturesque and impassioned 
ode, which has become forever associated with the national banner: 



f, SAY, can you see, by the dawn's early light, 
What so proudly we hailed in the twilight's 
last gleaming? 
Whose broad stripes and bright stars through 
the perilous fight, 
O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly 
streaming ; 
And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air, 
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still 
there. 
0, say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave? 

On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep, 
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence 
reposes, 

What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering 
steep, 
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses? 

Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam, 

In full glory reflected now shines on the stream. 
"Us the star-spangled banner! O, long may it wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave! 

15 



And where is that band who so vatintingly swore 
That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion 

A home and a country should leave us no more? 
Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' 
pollution. 

No refuge could save the hireling and slave 

From the terror of death and the gloom of the 
grave. 
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of. the brave! 

O, thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand 
Between their loved homes and the war"; desola- 
tion ; 
Blest with victory and peace, may the heaven-rescued 
land 
Praise the power that has made and preserved us a 
nation. 
Then conquer we must, for our cause it is just, 
And this be our motto, "In God is our trust." 
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave! 

221 



222 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



HAIL COLUMBIA. 



fAIL Columbia, happy land; 
Hail, ye heroes ! heaven-born hand ! 
Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause, 
Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause, 
And when the storm of war was gone 
Enjoyed the peace your valor won. 
Let independence be our boast, 
Ever mindful what it cost; 
Ever grateful for the prize, 
Let its altar reach the skies. 

Finn, united let us be, 
Rallying round our Liberty; 
As a baud of brothers joined, 
Peace and safety we shall And. 

Immortal patriots ! rise once more : 
Defend your rights, defend your shore; 

Let no rude foe with impious hand, 

Let no rude foe with impious hand, 
Invade the .shrine where sacred lies 
Of toil and blood the well-earned prize. 

While offering peace sincere and just, 

In Heaven we place a manly trust, 



That truth and justice will prevail, 
And every scheme of bondage fail. 

Sound, sound the trump of Fame! 

Let Washington's great name 

Ring through the world with loud applause , 
Ring through the world with loud applause $ 

Let every clime to Freedom dear 

Listen with a joyful ear! 

With equal skill and godlike power, 
He governed in the fearful hour 
Of horrid war ; or guides with ease 
The happier times of honest peace. 

Behold the chief who now commands, 
Once more to serve his country stands — 
The rock on which the storm will beat; 
The rock on which the storm will beat; 
But, armed in virtue firm and true, 
His hopes are fixed on Heaven and you. 
When hope was sinking in dismay, 
And glooms obscured Columbia's day, 
His steady mind, from changes free, 
Resolved on death or liberty. 

JOSKtll HOPKINSON. 



THE AMERICAN FLAG. 



jjjpHEN Freedom, from her mountain height, 
I? Unfurled her standard to the air, 
jsj" She tore the azure robe of night. 
And set the stars of glory there ! 
She mingled with its gorgeous dyes 
The milky baldric of the skies, 
And striped its pure celestial white 
With streakings of the morning light. 
Then, from his mansion in the sun, 
She called her eagle bearer down, 
And gave into his mighty hand 
The symbol of her chosen land ! 

Majestic monarch of the cloud! 

Who rears't aloft thy regal form, 
To hear the tempest-trumpings loud, 
And see the lightning lances driven, 

When strive the warriors of the storm, 
And rolls the thunder-drum of Heaven, — 
Child of the sun ! to thee 'tis given 
To guard the banner of the free, 
To hover ::i the sulphur smoke, 
To ward away the battle stroke, 

And bid its blendings shine afar, 

Like rainbows on the cloud of war, 
The harbingers of victory ! 



Flag of the brave ! thy folds shall fly, 
The sign of hope and triumph high! 
When speaks the signal-trumpet tone, 
And the long line comes gleaming on, 
Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet, 
Has dimmed the glistening bayonet, 
Each soldier's eye shall brightly turn 
To where thy sky-born glories burn, 
And as his springing steps advance, 
Catch war and vengeance from the glance. 
And when the cannon-mouthings loud 
Heave in wild wreaths the battle shroud, 
And gory sabres rise and fall 
Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall, 
Then shall thy meteor glances glow, 

And cowering foes shall shrink beneath 
Each gallant arm that strikes below 

That lovely messenger of death. 

Flag of the seas ! on ocean wave 
Thy star shall glitter o'er the brave; 
When death, careering on the gale, 
Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail, 
And frighted waves rushed wildly back 
Before the broadsides' reeling rack, 



FREEDOM AND PATRIOTISM. 



223 



Each dying wanderer of the sea 
Shall look at once to heaven and thee, 
And smile to see thy splendors fly 
In triumph o'er his closing eye. 

Flag of the free heart's hope and home, 
Ey angel hands to valor given, 



Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, 
And all thy hues were horn in heaven! 

Forever float that standard sheet. 
Where breathes the foe but falls before us, 

"With Freedom's soil beneath our feet, 
And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us! 
Joseph Rodman Drake. 



ENGLISH NATIONAL ANTHEM. 



fOD save our gracious king, 
\ Long live our noble king, 
God save the king. 
Send him victorious, 
Happy and glorious, 
Long to reign over us, 
God save the king. 

O Lord our God, arise, 
Scatter his enemies, 

And make them fall ; 



Confound their politics, 
Frustrate their knavish tricks; 
On him our hopes we fix, 
God save us all. 

The choicest gifts in store 
On him be pleased to pour, 

Long may he reign. 
May he defend our laws, 
And ever give us cause 
To sing with heart and voice, 

God save the king. 

Henry Caret. 



RULE, BRITANNIA ! 



pHEN Britain first, at Heaven's command, 
Arose from out the azure main, 
5^ This was the charter of the land, 

And guardian angels sung this strain : 
"Rule, Britannia, rule the waves; 
Britons never will be slaves." 

The nations not so blessed as thee 
Must in their turns to tyrants fall ; 

While thou shalt flourish great and free, 
The dread and envy of them all. 

Still more majestic shalt thou rise, 
More dreadful from each foreign stroke ; 

As the loud blast that tears the skies 
Serves but to root thy native oak. 



Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame: 
All their attempts to bend thee down 

Will but arouse thy generous flame, 
But work their woe and thy renown. 

To thee belongs the rural reign; 

Thy cities shall with commerce shine : 
All thine shall be the subject main : 

And every shore it circles thine. 

The Muses, still with freedom found, 

Shall to thy happy coast repair ; 
Blessed isle ! with matchless beauty crowned. 

And manly hearts to guard the fair. 

James Thompson. 



FRENCH NATIONAL HYMN. 

•*• 

fE sons of Freedom, wake to glory : 
Hark, hark, what myriads bid you rise; 
Your children, wives, and grandsires hoary — 
JJ Behold their tears and hear their cries ! 

Shall hateful tyrants mischief breeding, 
With hireling hosts; a ruffian band, 



Affright and desolate the land, 
While peace and liberty lie bleeding? 
To arms, to arms, ye brave! 
Th' avenging sword unsheath ! 
March on ! March on ! 
All hearts resolved on Victory or death! 



224 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



Now, now the dangerous storm is rolling, 

Which treacherous kings confederate raise; 
The dogs of war, let loose, are howling, 

And lo ! our walls and cities hlaze ! 
And shall we basely view the ruin, 
While lawless force, with guilty stride, 
Spreads desolation far and wide, 
With crimes and blood his hands imbruing? 
To arms, to arms, ye brave ! 
Th' avenging sword unsheath! 
March on! March on! 
All hearts resolved on Victory or death ! 

With luxury and pride surrounded, 

The vile insatiate despots dare, 
Their thirst of gold and power unbounded, 

To mete and vend the light and air! 
Like beasts of burden they would load us, 

Like gods, would bid their slaves adore; 

But man is man, and who is more? 



Then shall they longer lash and goad r,s? 
To arms, to arms, ye brave! 
Th' avenging sword unsheath ! 
March on ! March on ! 
All hearts resolved on Victory or death! 

O Liberty ! can man resign thee, 

Once having felt thy generous flame? 
Can dungeon's bolts and bars confine thee, 

Or whips thy noble spirit tame? 
Too long the world has wept, bewailing 
That falsehood's dagger tyrants wield; 
But Freedom is our sword and shield, 
And all their arts are unavailing. 
To arms, to arms, ye brave ! 
Th' avenging sword unsheath ! 
March on ! March on ! 
All hearts resolved on Victory or death ! 

[From the French oe Rog-et de Lisle.] 



PRUSSIAN NATIONAL ANTHEM. 



ip AM a Prussian ! see my colors gleaming — 
HI The black- white standard floats before me free ; 
/$& For Freedom's rights, my father's heart-blood 
* streaming, 

Such, mark ye, mean the black and white to me ! 
Shall I then prove a coward ? I'll e'er be to the toward ! 

Though day be dull, though sun shine bright on me, 

I am a Prussian, will a Prussian be ! 

Before the throne with love and faith I'm bending, 

Whence, mildly good, I hear a parent's tone; 
With filial heart, obedient ear I'm lending; 

The father trusts — the son defends the throne! 
Affection's ties are stronger — live, O my country, 
longer ! 

The King's high call o'erflows my breast so free; 

I am a Prussian, will a Prussian be I 

Not every day hath sunny light of glory; 

A cloud, a shower, sometimes dulls the lea ; 
Let none believe my face can tell the story, 

That every wish unfruitful is to me. 



How many far and nearer would think ox ::ange- 
much dearer? 
Their Freedom's naught: — how then compare with 

me! 
I am a Prussian, will a Prussian be ! 
And if the angry elements exploding, 

The lightnings flash, the thunders loudly roar, 
Hath not the world oft witnessed such foreboding? 

No Prussian's courage can be tested more. 
Should rock and oak be riven, to terror I'm not 
driven ; 
Be storm and din, let flashes gleam so free — 
I am a Prussian, Avill a Prussian be ! 

Where love and faith so round the monarch cluster, 

Where Prince and People so clasp firm their hands,. 
'T is there aloue true happiness can muster, 

Thus showing clear how firm the nation's bands, 
Again confirm the lealty! the honest, noble lealty! 
Be strong the bond, strike hands, dear hearts, with 

me; 
Is not this Prussia? Let us Prussians be ! 

[From the German.] 



-5^ 



THE GERMAN'S FATHERLAND. 



SHERE is the German's Fatherland? 
Is't Prussia? Swabia? Is't the strand 
Where grows the vine, where flows the 

Rhine? 
Is't where the gull skims Baltic's brine? — 
No ! — yet more great and far more grand 
Must be the German's Fatherland ! 



How call they then the German's land? 
Bavaria? Brunswick? Hast thou scanned 
It where the Zuyder Zee extends? 
Where Styrian toil the iron bends ? — 
No, brother; no! — thou has not spanned 
The German's genuine Fatherland. 



FREEDOM AND PATRIOTISM. 



225 



Is then the German's Fatherland 
"Westphalia? Poraerania? Stand 
"Where Zurich's waveless water sleeps; 
"Where Weser winds, where Danube sweeps; 
Hast found it now? — Not yet! Demand 
Elsewhere the German's Fatherland! 

Then say, where lies the German's land? 
How call they that unconquered laud? 
Is't where Tyrol's green mountains rise? 
The Switzer's land I dearly prize, 
By Freedom's purest breezes fanned — 
But no ! 'tis not the Germau's land ! 

"Where, therefore, lies the German's land? 
Baptize that great, that ancient land ! 
'Tis surely Austria, proud and bold, 
In wealth unmatched, in glory old? 
Oh none shall write her name on sand ; 
But she is not the German's land. 

Say then, where lies the German's land? 
Baptize that great, that ancient land ! 
Is't Alsace? Or Lorraine — that gem 
"Wrenched from the Imperial diadem 



By wiles which princely treachery planned? 
No! these are not the German's land. 

"Where, therefore, lies the German's land? 
Name now at last that mighty land ! 
"Where'er resounds the German's tongue — 
"Where German hymns to God are sung — 
There, gallant brother, take thy stand ! 
That is the German's Fatherland. 

That is his land, the land of lands, 
"Where vows bind less than clasped hands, 
"Where Valor lights the flashing eye, 
"Where Love and Truth in deep hearts lie, 
And Zeal enkindles Freedom's brand — 
That is the German's Fatherland ! 

That is the German's Fatherland. 

Great God ! Look down and bless that land! 

And give her noble children souls 

To cherish while existence rolls, 

And love with heart, and aid with hand. 

Their Universal Fatherland. 

[From the Gekmak.] 



LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS. 



llJlpHE breaking waves dashed high 
^ife On a stern and rock-bound coast, 
?($\ And the woods against a stormy sky 
ij Their giant branches tossed. 

And the heavy night hung dark 

The hills and waters o'er, 
When a band of exiles moored their bark 

On the wild New England shore. 

Not as the conqueror comes, 

They, the true-hearted, came ; 
Not with the roll of the stirring drums, 

And the trumpet that sings of fame. 

Not as the flying come, 

In silence and in fear; 
They shook the depths of the desert gloom 

With their hymns of lofty cheer. 

Amidst the storm they sang, 
And the stars heard, and the sea ; 

And the soundiug aisles of the dim woods n 
To the anthem of the free. 



The ocean eagle soared 

From his nest by the white wave's foam; 
And the rocking pines of the forest roar«d — 

This was their welcome home! 

There were men with hoary hair 

Amidst that pilgrim band : — 
"Why had they come to wither there, 

Away from their childhood's land? 

There was woman's fearless eye, 

Lit by her deep love's truth ; 
There was manhood's brow serenely high, 

And the fiery heart of youth. 

"What sought they thus afar? 

Bright jewels of the mine? 
The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? — 

They sought a faith's pure shrine ! 

Ay, call it holy ground, 

The soil where first they trod ; 
They left unstained what there they found — 

Freedom to worship God. 

Felicia Dorothea Hemans. 



226 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



HALLOWED GROUND. 



|K^HAT'S hallo-wed ground? Has earth a clod 
SpSIs Its Maker meant not should be trod 
7&T 1 By man, the image of his God, 
j£ Erect and free, 

Unscourged by Superstition's rod 
To how the knee? 

That's hallowed ground where, mourned £ 

missed, 
The lips repose our love has kissed; — 
But where's their memory's mansion? Is 't 

Yon ehurclryard's bowers? 
No! in ourselves their souls exist, 
A part of ours. 

A kiss can consecrate the ground 

Where mated hearts are mutual bound : 

The spot where love's first links were wound, 

That ne'er are riven, 
Is hallowed down to earth's profound, 

And up to heaven ! 

For time makes all but true love old; 
The burning thoughts that then were told 
Run molten still in memory's mould; 

And will not cool 
Until the heart itself be cold 

In Lethe's pool. 

What hallows ground where heroes sleep? 
'T is not the sculptured piles you heap ! 
In dews that heavens far distant weep 

Their turf may bloom; 
Or Genii twine beneath the deep 

Their coral tomb. 

But strew his ashes to the wind 

Whose sword or voice has served mankind,— 

And is he dead, whose glorious mind 

Lifts thine on high? — 
To live in hearts we leave behind 

Is not to die. 

Is 't death to fall for Freedom's right? 
He's dead alone that lacks her light! 
And murder sullies in Heaven's sight 

The sword he draws : — 
What can alone ennoble tight? 

A noble cause! 

Give that,— and welcome War to brace 

Her drums, and rend heaven's reeking space ! 

The colors planted face to face, 

The charging cheer, 
Though Death's pale horse lead ou the chase, 

Shall still be dear. 



And place our trophies where men kneel 
To Heaven! — but Heaven rebukes my zeal! 
The cause of Truth and human weal, 

O God above ! 
Transfer it from the sword's appeal 

To Peace and Love. 

Peace, Love! the cherubim, that join 
Their spread wings o'er Devotion's shrine, 
Prayers sound in vain, and temples shine, 

Where they are not, — 
The heart alone can make divine 

Religion's spot. 

To incantations dost thou trust, 
And pompous rites in domes august! 
See mouldering stones and metal's rust 

Belie the vaunt, 
That man can bless one pile of dust 

With chime or chant. 

The ticking wood-worm mocks thee, man ! 
Thy temples, — creeds themselves grow want 
But there's a dome of nobler span, 

A temple given 
Thy faith, that bigots dare not ban — 

Its space is heaven ! 

Its roof, star-pictured Nature's ceiling, 
Where, trancing the rapt spirit's feeling, 
And God himself to man revealing, 

The harmonious spheres 
Make music, though unheard their pealing 

By mortal ears. 

Fair stars ! are not your beings pure? 
Can sin, can death, your worlds obscure? 
Else why so swell the thoughts at your 

Aspect above? 
Ye must be heavens that make us sure 

Of heavenly love ! 

And in your harmony sublime 
i read the doom of distant time ; 
That man's regenerate soul from crime 

Shall yet be drawn, 
And reason on his mortal clime 

Immortal dawn. 

What's hallowed ground? 'T is what gives birtlfe 
To sacred thoughts in souls of worth ! — 
Peace ! Independence ! Truth ! go forth 

Earth's compass round ; 
And your high -priesthood shall make earth 

All hallowed ground. 

Thomas Campbell. 



pN the long vista of the years to roll. 

Is Let me not see my country's honor fade: 



Oh! let me see our land retain its soul! 

Her pride in Freedom, and not Freedom's shade. 



FREEDOM AND PATRIOTISM. 



227 



HARP OP THE NORTH. 






U»|AEP of the North! that mouldering long hast 

^T On the witch-elm that shades Saint Fillan's 

? spring, 

t And down the fitful hreeze thy numbers flung, 

Till envious ivy did around thee cling, 
Muffling with verdant ringlet every string, 

O Minstrel Harp, still must thine accents sleep? 
Mid rustling leaves and fountains murmuring, 

Still must thy sweeter sounds their silence keep, 
Nor bid a warrior smile, nor teach a maid to weep? 
Not thus, in ancient clays of Caledon, 

Was thy voice mute amid the festal crowd. 
When lay of hopeless love, or glory won, 

Aroused the fearful or subdued the proud. 



At each according pause was heard aloud 
Thine ardent symphony sublime and high! 

Fair dames and crested chiefs attention bowed ; 
For still the burden of thy minstrelsy 

Was Knighthood's dauntless deed, and Beauty's 
matchless eye. 

0, wake once more! how rude soe'er the hand 

That ventures o'er thy magic maze to stray; 
0, wake once more! though scarce my skill command 

Some feeble echoing of thine earlier lay : 
Though harsh and faint, and soon to die away, 

And all unworthy of thy nobler strain, 
Yet if one heart throb higher at its sway, 

The wizard note has not been touched in vain. 
Then silent be no more ! Enchantress, wake again ! 
Sir Walter Scott. 



MARCO BOZZARIS. 



midnight, in his guarded tent, 
The Turk was dreaming of the hour 
When Greece, her knee in supplianee bent, 

Should tremble at his power. 
In dreams, through camp and court, he bore 
The trophies of a conqueror; 

In dreams his song of triumph heard ; 
Then wore his monarch's signet- ring, 
Then pressed that monarch's throne — a king; 
As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing, 
As Eden's garden bird. 

At midnight, in the forest shades, 

Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band, — 
True as the steel of their tried blades, 

Heroes in heart and hand. 
There had the Persian's thousands stood, 
There had the glad earth drunk their blood, 

On old Platrea's day; 
And now there breathed that haunted air 
The sons of sires who conquered there, 
"With arm to strike, and soul to dare, 

As quick, as far, as they. 

An hour passed on, the Turk awoke: 

That bright dream was his last; 
He woke— to hear his sentries shriek, 

"To arms! they come! the Greek! the Greek!' 
He woke— to die midst flame, and smoke. 
And shout, and groan, and sabre-stroke, 

And death-shots falling thick and fast 
As lightnings from the mountain-cloud; 
And heard, with voice as trumpet loud, 

Bozzaris cheer his band : 



"Strike — till the last armed foe expires; 
Strike — for jour altars and your fires; 
Strike — for the green graves of your sires, 
God, and your native land! " 

They fought, like brave men, long and well; 

They piled the ground with Moslem slain; 
They conquered, but Bozzaris fell, 

Bleeding at every vein. 
His few surviving comrades saw 
His smile, when rang their proud hurrah, 

And the red field was won; 
Then saw in death his eyelids close, 
Calmly, as to a night's repose, 

Like flowers at set of sun. 

Come to the bridal chamber, Death ! 

Come to the mother when she feels 
For the first time her first-born's breath; 

Come when the blessed seals 
Which close the pestilence are broke, 
And crowded cities wail its stroke; 
Come in consumption's ghastly form. 
The earthquake's shock, the ocean storm; 
Come when the heart beats high and warm 

With banquet-song, and dance, and wine, 
And thou art terrible : the tear. 
The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier, 
And all we know, or dream, or fear 

Of agony, are thine. 

But to the hero, when his sword 

Has won the battle for the free, 
Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word, 
And in its hollow tones are heard 

The thanks of millions yet to be. 



228 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



Come when his task of fame is wrought; 
Come with her laurel-leaf, blood-bought; 

Come iu her crowning hour — and then 
Thy sunken eye's unearthly light 
To him is welcome as the sight 

Of sky and stars to prisoned men; 
Thy grasp is welcome as the hand 
Of brother in a foreign land ; 
Thy summons welcome as the cry 
That told the Indian isles were nigh 

To the world-seeking Genoese, 
When the land-wind, from woods of palm, 
And orange-groves, and fields of balm, 

Blew o'er the Haytian seas. 

Bozzaris! with the storied brave 

Greece nurtured in her glory's time, 
Rest thee ; there is no prouder grave, 

Even in her own proud clime. 
She wore no funeral weeds for thee, 

Nor bade the dark hearse wave its plume, 
Like torn branch from death's leafless tree, 
In sorrow's pomp and pageantry, 

The heartless luxury of the tomb. 



But she remembers thee as one 
Long loved, and for a season gone. 
For thee her poet's lyre is wreathed, 
Her marble wrought, her music breathed ; 
For thee she rings the birthday bells ; 
Of thee her babes' first lisping tells; 
For thine her evening prayer is said 
At palace couch and cottage bed. 
Her soldier, closing with the foe, 
Gives for thy sake a deadlier blow ; 
His plighted maiden, when she fears 
For him, the joy of her young years, 
Thinks of thy fate, and checks her tears. 

And she, the mother of thy boys, 
Though in her eye and faded cheek 
Is read the grief she will not speak, 

The memory of her buried joys, — 
And even she who gave thee birth, — 
Will, by her pilgrim-circled hearth, 

Talk of thy doom without a sigh ; 
For thou art freedom's now, and fame's, — 
One of the few, the immortal names 

That were not born to die. 

Fitz- Greene IIalleck. 



OF OLD SAT FREEDOM OX THE HEIGHTS. 



IF old sat Freedom on the heights. 
|> The thunders breaking at her feet ; 
v Above her shook the starry lights, 
She heard the torrents meet. 

There in her place she did rejoice, 
Self-gathered in her prophet-mind, 

But fragments of her mighty voice 
Came rolling on the wind. 

Then stept she down through town and field 
To mingle with the human race, 

And part by part to men revealed 
The fullness of her face — 



Grave mother of majestic works, 

From her isle-altar gazing down, 
"Who God-like grasps the triple forks, 

And king-like w T ears the crown. 

Her open eyes desire the truth, 

The wisdom of a thousand years 
Is in them. May perpetual youth 

Keep dry their light from tears ; 

That her fair form may stand and shine, 
Make bright our days and light our dreams, 

Turning to scorn with lips divine 
The falsehood of extremes ! 

Alfred Tennyson. 



FREEDOM. 



3! FREDOME is a nobill thing! 
r$S Fredome mayse man to haiff liking! 
Fredome all solace to man giffis : 
He levys at ese that frely levys ! 
A noble hart may haiff nane ese, 
ISTa ellys nocht that may him plese, 
Gyff fredome failythe : for fre liking 
Is yearnyt our all othir thing 



Na he, that ay hase leA^yt fre, 
May nocht knaw weill the propyrte, 
The angyr, na the wrechyt dome, 
That is cowplyt to foule thyrldome. 
Bot gyff he had assayit it, 
Than all perquer he suit itiwyt; 
And suld think fredome mar to pryse 
Than all the gold in warld that is. 

John Barbour. 



1 REEDOM AND PATRIOTISM. 



2-29 



LOVE OF LIBERTT 



mK FOR a lodge in some vasl wilderness, 

ISfi Some I ». .ii 1 1 < I Lt~- <•■ .nt i-nit\ ..I -hade. 
Where rumor of oppression and deceit, 

in Of unsuccessful and successful war, 

Might never reach me more. Mi ear is pained, 
My soul Is sick, with everj day's report 
Of wrong and outrage w Lth « hich earth is filled. 
There is no flesh in man'.- obdurate heart, 
it does uot feel for man. the natural bond 
Of brotherhood is severed as the das 
That falls asunder al the touch oi Are. 
He linds liis fellow guilt] Of a skin 
Not colored like hi- own; and having power 
To enforce the \\ rong, for such a worth] cause 
Dooms and devotes him as his law ml prej . 
Lands Intersected by a narrow frith 
Abhor each other. Mountains interposed 
Make enemies of nations, who bad else 



T.ik<- kindred drops been mingled inl • . 

Thus man devotes his brother, and destroys; 

And, worse than all, and most to be deplored, 

As human nature's broadest, foulest blot, 

( b .'m- him. and tasks him. and exacts his sweat 

Wiih stripes, thai Mercy, with a bleeding he^rt, 

Weeps when she seees inflicted on n beast. 

Then what is man? And whal man. seeing this, 

And having human feelings, does nol blush 

And hang his head t" think himseli a man? 

1 would nol have a -lave- to till mj ground, 

To carry me, to fan ine while I sleep, 

And tremble when I wake, for all the wealth 

That sinews bought and sold have ever earned. 

N".>: dear as freedom is, and in mj heart's 

Just estimation prized above oil pi 

I had much rather be mj sell the slave, 

And war the bonds, than fasten them on him. 

\\ 11.1.1 am < <>w PEE, 



•<—$*-• 



THE SOITJRCE OF PAETT WISDOM. 



|y H.WT. seen the sea lashed into fury and tossed into spray, and it- grandeur moves 
tfj*s' the soul of tin- dullest man; but I remember that it is not the billows, bul the calm 

level of the sea, from which all heights and depths are measured. When the storm 
|j has passed and the hour of calm settles on the ocean, when the sunlight bathes its 

smooth surface, then the astronomer and surveyor take the level from which to meas- 
ure all terrestrial heights and depth-. Gentlemen of the convention, your presenl temper 
may not mark the healthful pulse of our people when our enthusiasm has passed. When 
the emotions of this hour have subsided we shall find that calm level of public opinion 
below the storm, from which the thoughts of a mighty people are to be measured, and by 
which their final action will be determined. Nut here in this brilliant circle, where fifteen 
thousand men and women are assembled, is the destiny of the Republican party to be 
declared. Not heir, where 1 see the faces of seven hundred and fifty-six delegates waiting 
to cast their votes in the urn and determine the choice of the republic, bul by four million 
Republican firesides, where the thoughtful voters, with wives and children about them, 
with the calm thoughts inspired by the love of home and country, with the history of the 
past, thr hopes of the future, and a knowledge of the greal men who have adorned and 
blessed our nation in day- gone by — there God prepares the \ erdict thai shall determine the 
wis, ion, of our work to-night. Not in Chicago, in the heats of dune, but in the sober quiet 
thai comes to them between now and November; in the silence of deliberate judgment will 
the great question be settled. 



James A. Garfield. 



r REEDOM who loves, must first be 



and 



««?* good ; 

But from that mark how fai 

For all this waste oi wealth 



they rove we see, 
ind Loss of blond. 



vf^^-110 can in reason then or right assume 
£«£#« Monarchy over such as live by right 
His equals, if in pow'r or splendor less, 
Iu freedom equal. 



230 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



A CURSE ON THE TRAITOR. 



mmm FOR a tongue to curse the slave, 
"SlIP Whose treason, like a deadly blight, 
'W^ Qomes o'er the councils of the brave, 
•"• And blasts them in their hour oT might! 
May life's unblessed cup for him 
Be drugged with treacheries to the brim,— 
With hopes that but allure to fly, 

With joys that vanish while he sips, 
Like Dead Sea fruits, that tempt the eye, 
But turn to ashes on the lips. 



3^<r-Q- 



His country's curse, his children's shame, 
Outcast of virtue, peace, and fame ; 
May he, at last, with lips of flame 
On the parched desert, thirsting, die, — 
While lakes, that shone in mockery nigh, 
Are fading off, untouched, untasted, 
Like the once glorious hopes he blasted ! 
And when from earth his spirit flies, 

Just Prophet, let the damned one dwell 
Full in the sight of Paradise, 
Beholding heaven, and feeling hell ! 

Thomas Moore. 



DOWNFALL OF POLAND. 



SACRED Truth ! thy triumph ceased awhile, 
And Hope, thy sister, ceased with thee to 

smile. 
When leagued Oppression poured to Northern 
wars 

Her whiskered pandoors and her fierce hussars, 
Waved her dread standard to the breeze of morn, 
Pealed her loud drum, and twanged her trumpet-horn ; 
Tumultuous horror brooded o'er her van, 
Presaging wrath to Poland — and to man! 

Warsaw's last champion from her height surveyed, 
Wide o'er the fields, a waste of ruin laid, — 
"0 Heaven! " he cried, " my bleeding country save, — 
Is there no hand on high to shield the brave? 
Yet, though destruction sweep those lovely plains, 
Rise, fellow-men! our country yet remains! 
By that dread name we wave the sword on high ! 
And swear for her to live ! — with her to die ! " 



He said, and on the rampart-heights arrayed 
His trusty warriors, few, but undismayed; 
Firm-paced and slow, a horrid front they form, 
Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm; 
Low murmuring sounds along their banners fly, 
Revenge, or death! — the watchword and reply; 
Then pealed the notes, omnipotent to charm, 
And the loud tocsin tolled their last alarm ! — 

In vain, alas ! in vain, ye gallant few ! 
From rank to rank your volleyed thunder Hew: — 
0, bloodiest picture in the book of Time, 
Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime; 
Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe, 
Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe! 
Dropped from her nerveless grasp the shattered spear, 
Closed her bright eye, and curbed her high career; — 
Hope, for a season, bade the world farewell, 
And Freedom shrieked, as Kosciusko fell. 

Thomas Campbell. 



GREEN FIELDS OF ENGLAND. 



pSpJEEN fields of England! whereso'er 
Across this watery waste we fare, 
)X Your image at our hearts we bear, 
Green fields of England, everywhere. 

Sweet eyes in England, I must flee 
Past where the waves' last confines b( 



& 



Ere your loved smile I cease to see, 
Sweet eyes in England, dear to me. 

Dear home in England, safe and fast, 
If but in thee my lot be cast, 
The past shall seem a nothing past 
To thee, dear home, if won at last; 
Dear home in England, won at last. 

Arthur Hugh Clotjgh. 



ETERNAL SPIRIT OF THE OHAINLESS MIND. 



INTERNAL spirit of the chainless mind! 
W^ Brightest in dungeons, Liberty! thou art; 
^K For there thy habitation is the heart— 
J4 The heart which love of thee alone can bind; 



And when thy sons to fetters are consigned — 
To fetters, and the dampvault's dayless gloom— 
Their country conquers with their martyrdom, 
And Freedom's fame finds wings on every wind. 
Lord Byron. 



FREEDOM AND PATH K ) I d-M . 



231 



BANNOCKBURN 



Bannockbnrn the English lay— 
The Scots thej were aa far awaj . 
But waited for the break o 1 day 
Thai glinted in the easl ; 

But soon the sun broke through 1 1 1 * - heath 
Ami lighted up thai field o' death, 
When Bruce, wi' saul-inspiring hrcath, 
Hi- heralds thus addresse 1 : 

Scots, who hae wi" Wallace bled, 
Scots, wham Brace bas alien led 
Welcome to your gory bed, 
Or to victorie. 

Nbw's the day. and uow's the hour. 
See the front o' battle lour: 
See approach proud Edward's power— 
( lhalns and slaverie! 



Wha will be a traitor knave? 
Wha ran till a cow aid- grave? 
Wha sae base as be a slave? 
Let him turn and flee! 

Wha for Scotland's king and law 
Freedom's sword will strongly draw. 
Freeman 3tand, or freeman fa'? 
Lei bim follow me! 

By Oppression's woes and pains! 
By your -'>n< in servile chains! 
We w ill dram our dearest veins 
Bui they shall be I 

Lay the proud usurpers low ! 
Tyrants full in every foe! 
Liberty 's in every Mow! 
Let ii- do", or die ! 



Robj in i;i rare. 



orn COUNTRY'S (ALL. 



[AY down the axe, fling by the spade; 

Leave In its track the toiling plough; 
The rifle and the bayonet-blade 

For arms like yours are titter now ; 
And lei the hand- thai plj the pen 

Quit the light ta-k. and ham to wield 

The horseman's cj ked brand, and rein 

The charger on the battle-field. 

Our country calls; away! away] 

To when' the bl l-stream blots the green, 

Strike to defend the gentlest sway 

That Time in all hi- course has seen. 
See, from a thousand coverl — see 

Spring the armed foes that haunt ber track: 
They rash to smite her dow a, and wc 

Musi beat the handed traitors hack. 

Ho! sturdy as the oak- ye cleavo, 

And moved as -non to fear and flight ; 
Men of the glade and forest ! leave 

Your woodcraft for the field of fight. 
The arms that wield the axe must pour 

An iron tempest on the foe; 
His serried rank- shall reel before 

The arm that lays the panther low. 

And ye who breas the mountain .-form 
By grassy steep or highland lake. 

Come, for the land ye love, to form 
A bulwark that no foe can break. 



Stand, like your own gray cliffs thai noi k 
The whirlwind; stand in ber defence : 

The blast as soon shall move the rock, 
A- rushing squadrons bear ye thence. 

And ye, whose homes are bj her -rand 

Swift rivers, rising far awaj . 
Come from the depth ol her green land 

As might] in your march as they; 
A- terrible as when the rains 

Have swelled the ver bank and bourne, 

With sudden fl 1- to drov. u the plains 

And swe< p along the « la uptorn. 

And ye who throng beside the d< ep, 

Her ports and hamlet- oJ the strand, 
In number like the wave- thai leap 

< ui hi- long murmuring marge of sand, 
i ome, like thai deep, wben, o'er bi< brim, 

He rises, all his fl 1- to pom-. 

And flings the proudesl hark- thai swim, 

A helpless wreck against his shore. 

Few. few were they whose sword- of old, 
Won the fair land in which we dwell i 

But we are many, we who hold 
The grim resolve to guard it-well. 

Strike for that broad and goodly land. 
Blow after blow, till men shall see 

That Might and Righl move hand in band, 
Aud glorious musl their triumph be. 

William Cullen Bryant. 



232 



THE KOYAL GALLERY. 



WHAT CONSTITUTES A STATE ? 



fffipfHAT constitutes a state? 
PKi Not high-raised battlement or labored 
'^f< mound, 

JJ Thick wall or moated gate ; 

Not cities proud with spires and turrets 
crowned ; 
Not bays and broad-armed ports, 
Where, laughing at the storm, rich navies ride; 

Not starred and spangled courts, 
Where low-browed baseness wafts perfume to pride. 

No: — -men, high-minded men, 
With powers as far above dull brutes endued 

In forest, brake or den, 
As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude, — 

Men who their duties know, 
But know their rights, and knowing, dare maintain; 
Prevent the long-aimed blow. 



And crush the tyrant while they rend the chain, — 

These constitute a state ; 
And sovereign law, that state's collected will, 

O'er thrones and globes elate 
Sits empress, crowning good, repressing ill. 

Smit by her sacred frown, 
The fiend, Dissension, like a vapor sinks; 

And e'en the all-dazzling crown 
Hides his faint rays, and at her bidding shrinks ; 

Such was this heaven-loved isle, 
Than Lesbos fairer and the Cretan shore ! 

No more shall freedom smile? 
Shall Britons languish, and be men no more? 

Since all must life resign, 
Those sweet rewards which decorate the brave 

'T is folly to decline, 
And steal inglorious to the silent grave. 

Sir William Jones. 



THE LOVE OF COUNTRY. 



£$*. 



pp»REATHES there the man with soul so dead, 
§pll Who never to himself hath said, 
"^Sgr* This is my own, my native land ! 

' Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned 
As home his footsteps he hath turned, 

From wandering on a foreign strand? 
If such there breathe, go, mark him well; 
For him no minstrel raptures swell ! 



High though his titles, proud his name, 
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim : 
Despite those titles, power, and pelf, ' 
The wretch, concentred all in self, 
Living, shall forfeit fair renown, 
And doubly dying, shall go down 
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung, 
Unwept, unhonored, and unsung. 

Sir Walter Scott. 



IT'S SAME, AND IT'S HAME. 



'S hame, and it's hame, hame fain wad I be, 
An' it's hame, hame, hame, to my ain countree ! 
When the flower is i' the bud, and the leaf is on 

the tree, 
The lark shall sing me hame in my ain countree; 
It's hame, and it's hame, hame fain wad I be, 
An' it's hame, hame, hame, to my ain countree ! 

The green leaf o' loyaltie 's beginning for to fa', 
The bonnie white rose it is withering an' a' ; 
But I'll water 't wi' the blude of usurping tyrannie, 
An' green it will grow in my ain countree. 
It's hame, and it's hame, hame fain wad I be, 
An' it's hame, hame, hame, to my ain countree! 



There's naught now frae ruin my country can save 
But the keys o' kind heaven to open the grave, 
That a' the noble martyrs who died for loyaltie 
May rise again and fight for their ain countree. 
It's hame, an' it's hame, hame fain wad I be, 
An' it's hame, hame, hame, to my ain countree! 

The great now are gane, a' who ventured to save, 
The new grass is springing on the tap o' their grave: 
But the sun through the mirk blinks blythe in my ee. 
"I'll shine on ye yet in your ain countree." 
It's hame, and it's hame, hame fain wad I be, 
An' it's hame, hame, hame, to my ain countree ! 

Allan Cunningham. 



CAMP AND BATTLE. 




'Lashed to madncs* bj 
\- the Red 9ea turge 



THE BATTLE OF ALEXANDRIA. 



RPof Mcmnnn! sweetl] strung 
To the music oi the spheres; 
While the Hero's dirge Is sung, 
Breathe enchantment to our ears. 

Let thy numbers, soft and ,-1<>w. 

O'er the plain with carnage spread 
Soothe the dying while they flow 

To the memory of the dead. 



I to madness bj the wind, 
Vs the Red Sea -urges roar 
Leave a gloomj gull behind, 
And devour the shrinking shore. 

Thus, with overwhelming pride. 

Gallia's brightest, boldest hoast, 
In a deep and dreadful tide, 

Roll'd upon the British host. 



233 



234 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



Now the veteran Chief drew nigh, 
Conquest towering on his crest, 

Valor beaming from his eye, 
Pity bleeding on his breast. 

On the whirlwind of the war 
High he rode in vengeance dire ; 

To his friends a leading star, 
To his foes consuming Are. 

Charged with Abercrombie's doom, 
Lightning wing'd a cruel ball : 

'Twas the Herald of the Tomb, 
And the Hero felt the call — 

Felt — and raised his arms on high ; 

Victory well the signal knew, 
Darted from his awful eye, 

And the force of France o'erthrew. 



Harp of Memnon ! sweetly strung 

To the music of the spheres ; 
While the Hero's dirge is sung, 

Breathe enchantment to .our ears. 

Let thy numbers, soft and slow, 
O'er the plain with carnage spread, 

Soothe the dying while they flow 
To the memory of the dead. 

Then thy tones triumphant pour, 
Let them pierce the Hero's grave; 

Life's tumultuous battle o'er, 
O, how sweetly sleep the brave ! 

From the dust their laurels bloom, 
High they shoot and flourish free ; 

Glory's temple is the tomb ; 
Death is immortality. 

James Montgomery. 



THE BALLAD OF AG-INCOURT. 



| AIR stood the wind for France, 
When we our sails advance, 
Nor now to prove our chance 

Longer will tarry ; 
But putting to the main, 
At Kause, the mouth of Seine, 
With all his martial train, 
Landed King Harry. 

And taking many a fort, 
Furnished in warlike sort, 
Marched toward Agincourt 

In happy hour; 
Skirmishing day by day 
With those that stopped his way, 
Where the French general lay 

With all his power. 

Which in his height of pride, 
King Henry to deride, 
His ransom to provide 

To the king sending ; 
Which he neglects the while, 
As from a nation vile, 
Yet, with an angry smile. 

Their fall portending. 

And turning to his men, 
Quoth our brave Henry then : 
Though they to one be ten, 

Be not amazed ; 
Yet have we well begun, 
Battles so bravely won 
Have ever to the sun 

By fame been raised. 



And for myself, quoth he, 
This my full rest shall be ; 
England ne'er mourn for me, 

Nor more esteem me. 
Victor I will remain, 
Or on this earth lie slain ; 
Never shall she sustain 

Loss to redeem me. 

Poitiers and Cressy tell, 

When most their pride did swell, 

Under our swords they fell. 

No less our skill is 
Than when our grandsire great, 
Claiming the regal seat, 
By many a warlike feat 

Lopped the French lilies. 

The Duke of York so dread 
The eager vaward led ; 
With the main Henry sped 

Amongst his henchmen. 
Excester had the rear, 
A braver man not there : 
O Lord! how hot they were 

On the false Frenchmen. 

They now to fight are gone ; 
Armor on armor shone ; 
Drum now to drum did groan, 

To hear was wonder; 
That with the cries they make 
The very earth did shake, 
Trumpet to trumpet spake. 

Thunder to thunder. 



CAiir am> BATTIJ 



235 



WeU it thine age became, 
O noble Erpinghani ! 
Which did the signal aim 

'lo our hid forces; 
When, from a meadow by 
Like a storm suddenly . 
The English archer) 

Struck the E rencb I 

With Spanish \ew bo Bti'ong, 
Arrows a cloth-j ard long. 
Thai like to serpents stung, 

Piercing the weather; 
None from bis fellow Btarts, 

But playing manly part-. 

And like true English hearts, 
Stuck close together. 

When down their bows they threw, 
And torth their bilboes drew . 
And on the French they flew . 

Not one a as tardj : 
Arm- were from shoulders sent, 
.scalp- to the teeth were rent ; 
Down the French peasants went; 

our men were hardy. 

This w bile our noble kinu r . 
Hi- broadsword brandishing, 
Down the French hoBl did ding, 
As to o'erwhelm it ; 



And many a deep wound rent 

Hi- arm- w ith ill I besprent, 

And many a cruel dent, 
I his helmet. 

Glo'ster, that duke bo good 
Next ,.i the roj ai blood, 
For famous England -i I, 

With hi- brave brother 
< ilarence, In steel bo bright, 
Though bnt a maiden knight, 
Yet in that furious fight 

Scarce such another. 

Warwick in bl t did wade; 

Oxford the foe invade, 
And cruel slaughter made, 

Still as the] ran op. 
Suffolk lii- axe did plj ; 
Beaumont and WlUoughby 
Bare them right doughtily, 

Ferrers and l anhope. 

Dpon Saint I Irispin'a daj 
Fought was this a6ble fraj . 
Whirl, Fame did ool delaj 

To England to carrj . 
o. when shall Englishmen 
With -mil acta till a pen, 
Or England breed again 

Such a King Harrj .- 

Mm ii m i Drayton. 



YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND. 



E mariiii r- of England 
Thai guard out native seas; 
Whose flag has braved a thousand years 
The battle and the breeze, 
Tour glorious standard launch again 
To match another foe, 
And sweep through the deep, 
While the stormy « bids <l" blow ; 
While the battle rages loud and long, 
And the Btormj n iml- do blow . 

The spirits of your fathers 

Shall Start from every wave: 

For the 'leek It was their field of fume. 
And ocean w as their grave : 
Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell, 
Your manly hearts shall glow, 
sweep through the deep, 
While the stormy n iml- do blow; 
While the battle rages loud and long, 
And the stormy winds do blow. 



Britannia needs no bulwarks, 

No towers along the steep; 

Her march Is o'er the mountain-waves, 

Her b - i- "ii the deep. 

Wiih thunders from her native oak, 
she quells the floods below,— 
As they roar on the 3hore, 
When the storm] winds do blow ; 
When the battle rages loud and long, 
Ami the -toriny winds do blow. 

'The meteor llag of England 

shall \ei terrific burn; 

Till danger's troubled night depart, 

And the 3tar of pei return. 

Then, then, ye pcean-\\ arriors, 
Our soug and feast shall flow 

To the lame of J "iir name. 

When the storm 1 blow; 

When the flery light is heard no more, 
And the storm has ceased to blow. 

Thomas Campbell. 



236 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 

THE UNRETURNING BRAVE. 



TD Ardennes waves above them her green 

leaves, 
Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass ; 
Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, 
Over the unre turning brave; — alas! 
Ere evening to be trodden like the grass 
Which now beneath them, but above shall grow 
In its next verdure, when this fiery mass 
Of living valor, rolling ou the foe, 
And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and 
low. 

Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, 
Last eve in beauty's circle proudly gay; 
The midnight brought the signal- sound of strife. 
The morn the marshaling in arms — the day 
Battle's magnificently stern array ! 
The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent 
The earth is covered thick with other clay, 
Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent, 
Rider and horse — friend, foe,— in one red burial blent! 



Their praise is hymned by loftier harps than mine ; 
Yet one I would select from that proud throng, 
Partly because they blend me with his line, 
And partly that I did his sire some wrong. 
And partly that bright names will hallow song ; 
And his was of the bravest, and when showered 
The death-bolts deadliest the thinned files along, 
Even where the thickest of war's temper lowered, 
They reached no nobler breast than thine, young, 
gallant Howard ! 

There have been tears and breaking hearts for thee, 
And mine were nothing, had I such to give; 
But when I stood beneath the fresh greet: tree, 
Which living waves where thou didst ceaso to live, 
And saw around me the wide field revive 
With fruits and fertile promise, and the Spring 
Come forth her work of gladness to contrive 
With all her reckless birds upon the wing, 
I turned from all she brought, to those she could not 
bring. 

Lord Byron. 



WATERLOO. 



|Ui|HERE was a sound of revelry by night, 

Mm And Belgium's capital had gathered then 

*|p Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright 

The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave 

men; 
A thousaud hearts beat happily ; and when 
Music arose with its voluptuous swell, 
Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again. 
And all went merry as a marriage-bell; 
But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising 
knell! 

Did ye not hear it? N'o ; 't was but the wind 
Or the car rattling o'er the stony street; 
On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; 
No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet 
To chase the glowing hours with flying feet; 
But hark! — that heavy sound breaks in once more. 
As if the clouds its echo would repeat; 
And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before ! 
Arm ! arm ! it is — it is — the cannon's opening roar ! 

Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro, 
And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, 
And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago 
Blushed at the praise, of their own loveliness ; 
And there were sudden partings, such as press 



The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs 
Which ne'er might be repeated; who could guess 
If evermore should meet those mutual eyes, 
Since upon night :o sweet such awful morn could 
rise! 

And there was mounting in hot haste ; the steed. 
The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, 
Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, 
And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; 
And the deep thunder, peal on peal afar; 
And near, the beat of the alarming drum 
Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; 
While thronged the citizens with terror dumb. 
Or whispering, with white lips, — "The foe! They 
come! they come!" 

And wild and high the u The Cameron's gather- 
ing" rose! 
The war-notes of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills 
Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes; — 
How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills. 
Savage and shrill ! But with the breath which Alls 
Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers 
With the fierce native daring which instills 
The stirring memory of a thousand years, 
And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each clansman's 
ears ! 

Lord Byron. 




rorjd Q'taycesAjl/oio a/,rr >/;c ooes. 
^ \A/°" t ' ( / y tfi' tvdpc/ertpcf trreje , 

///t Sun (pat 'neat/ Jjer OOgpct v'/owj 
/s /area ty urpat it sees 
Jo write ujttcy />tr ///usptn<f cheek 

//)& words of to\-c it fat r> u/cutd spectA ■ l /i^ / // / r J 

■s 7 _ / - / / / C clcud/ess u(eam of Ju-myner tio 

^S / 0> orecith ol ocedn u/incC , 

n /y e 6rij?QS a dinjyess to t^e SLQ^ft 

<^_ x Qyiyd leaves a srpite le^ipd . 

\/\/6o sees Aer pass well turn and I I 



rper tid/jt , 



~l~s /b OrecLCh ot ocedn 
p /ye Or/j? os a din/p 
C <K ^ X (£/tyd leaves a srpile le^ipd .;;. 

\A/^° sees _per oass u/uL turn and I less 
/ nC L/od tyat oave sue/ toyeliyess. j 




CAMP AND BATTLE 



237 



THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE. 



^F a league, half a league, 
Half a league onward, 
All in the valley of Death 
Rode the six hundred. 
•• Forward, the Lighl Brigade! 
Charge for the ^im-: " he said: 
Into tin- vallej ol Death 
Rode the sis hundri rt. 

" Forward, the Lighl Brigade! " 
Was there a man dismaj ed? 
Not though the soldiers knew 

Some one had blundered: 
Theirs not to make- reply, 
Theirs not to reason \\ hy, 
Theirs bul to do and die : 
lnt<» the vallej ol I tenth 

Rode the -i\ hundred. 

Cannon to righl ol them, 
Cannon to lell ol them, 
Cannon In from ol them 

Volleyed and thundered; 
Stormed al n ith shol nd shell, 
Hol.li> they rode and w< 11. 
Into the jaws ol Death, 
Into the month ol Hell 

Rode the six hundred. 

Flashed all their sabres bare, 
Flashed as they turned in air, 



Sabring the gunners there, 
Charging an army, while 

All the world wondered : 
Plunged in the batterj -smoke, 
Righl through the lini tbej broke; 
( lossack and Russian 
Reeled from the sabre-stroke 

Shattered and sundered. 
Then they rode hack, hut not 

Not the six hundred. 

Cannon to righl ol them, 
Cannon to l it ol them, 
Cannon behind them 

v yed and thundered: 
Stormed at with shol and shell, 
While horse and hero fell, 
Thej thai had fought so well 
Came through the jaw- ol Death 
Hack from the mouth ol Ih II. 
All thai was left ol them, 
six hundred. 

W hen can tlieir glorj fade? 
0, the wild charge thej made! 

All the world - onden d 
Honor the charge thoj mad. I 
Honor the Light Bi ig 

Noble Sis huiidr. d ' 

\l i ii i I'l \\\ SON. 



SOSG ( >F THE (AMP. 



us a song!" the soldiers cried, 
The outer trenches guarding, 
When the heaied guns ol the .amp- allied 
(ir.-w wear] ..i bombarding. 

The dark Redan, in silent scoff, 
Lay grim and threatening under; 

And the tawny mound ol the Malakoff 
No longer belched it- thunder. 

There was a pau-c A guardsman said: 

"We storm the forts to-morrow; 

Sing while we ma\ . another daj 
Will bring enough oi sorrow." 

They lay along the battery's side, 

Below the sin. .kin-' cannon : 

Brave hearts from Severn and from Clyde, 

And from the hank- ol Shannon. 

They sang ol love, and not ol fame; 

Forgot was Britain's glory: 
Each heart recalled a different name, 

But all sang "Annie Laurie." 

Voice after voice caught up the song, 
Until its tender passion 



■ an anthem, rich and Strang 
Their battle-i 



I ' girl, her name h 



speak, 



S thing upon the soldiei 's check 

Washed off the stains ol powder. 

B 

The hi ly sunset's erabci s, 

While the ( irimean vallej - learned 

How English love remembers. 

And once again a fire of hell 
Rained on the Russian quarters, 

With scream oi shot, ^lieU, 

And i..-ll..\\ ing of the m< 

And Irish Nbrah's eyes are dim 

For a singer dumb and gory; 
And English Mary mourn- for him 

Who sang oi " Annie Laurie." 

Sleep, soldiers! still in honored rest 

Your truth and valor wearing; 
The bravest are the tenderest — 

The loving are tue daring. 

BAYAKJ; TAYLOK. 



£3o 



THE ROYAL GALLERY , 



HOHENLINDEST. 



Linden, when the sun was low, 
,_ All bloodless lay the untrodden snow, 
*W- And dark as winter was the flow 
Ji Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 



But redder yet that light shall glow 
On Linden's hills of stained snow, 
And bloodier yet the torrent flow 
Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 



But Linden saw another sight, 
When the drum beat, at dead of night, 
Commanding fires of death to light 
The darkness of her scenery. 



'Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun 
Can pierce the war-clouds roUing dun, 
Where furious Frank and fiery Hun 
Shout in their sulphurous canopy. 



By torch- and trumpet fast arrayed, 
Each horseman drew his battle-blade, 
And furious every charger neighed, 
To join the dreadful revelry. 



The combat deepens. On, ye brave, 
Who rush to glory or the grave ! 
Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave, 
And charge with all th5 r chivalry! 



Then shook the hills with thunder riven, 
Then rushed the steed to battle driven, 
And louder than the bolts of heaver. 
Ear flashed the red artillery. 



Few, few shall part where many meet! 
The snow shall be their winding-sheet 
And every turf beneath their feet 
Shall be a soldier's sepulchre. 

Thomas Campbell. 



CARMEN BELLICOSUM. 



ppN their ragged regimentals, 
HI Stood the old Continentals, 
X Yielding not, 

* When the grenadiers were lunging, 
And like hail fell the plunging 
Cannon-shot! 
When the files 
Of the isles. 
Firon the smoky night encampment, bore the banner 
of the rampant 

Unicorn, 
Ae<2 grummer, gruininer, grummer, rolled the roll of 
the drummer, 

Through the morn! 

Then with eyes to the front all, 
And with guns horizontal, 

Stood our sires ; 
And the balls whistled deadly, 
And in streams flashing redly 
Blazed the fires ; 
As the roar 
On the shore, 
Swept the strong battle-breakers o'er the green-sod- 
ded acres 

Of the plain; 
£lw1 louder, louder, louder, cracked the black gun- 
powder, 

Cracking amain ! 



Now like smiths at their forges 
Worked the red St. George's 

Cannoneers; 
And the "villainous saltpetre" 
Rung a fierce, discordant metre 
Round their ears ; 
As the swift 
Storm-drift, 
With hot sweeping anger, came the horse-guard* ' 
clangor 

On our flanks : 
Then higher, higher, higher, burned the old-fash- 
ioned fire 

Through the ranks! 

Then the old-fashioned colonel 
Galloped through the white infernal 

Powder- cloud ; 
And his broad-sword was swinging 
And his brazen throat was ringing 
Trumpet loud. 
Then the blue 
Bullets flew, 
And the trooper- jackets redden at the touch of the 
leaden 

Rifle-breath ; 
And rounder, rounder, rounder, roared the iron six- 
pounder, 

Hurling death ! 

Guy Humphrey McMaster. 



CAMP AND DATTLE. 



239 



. pt\te . 



■: 



E were not many — we who stood 
Before the iron sleet that day: 
ye( many a gallanl spiril would 
Give ball hi> years if bat he could 
Have with u< been at Monterey. 



MONTEREY 

[Sept. 19-H, '&0-J 



Now here, now there, the shot it hailed 

In deadly drifts 01 fiery spray, 
Yet uot a single Boldier quailed 
When wounded comrades round him wailed 

Their dj Ing shoal al Monterey. 

And on — still on our column kept, 
Through walls of flame, Its withering way; 

Where fell the dead, the li\ ing slept, 
still charging on the guns which swept 
The slipperystzeets oi Monterey. 



The foe himself recoiled aghast, 

When, striking where he strongest lay, 
We swooped his flanking batteries past, 
And. braving full their murderous blast, 
Stormed home the towers ol Monterey. 

Our banners on those turrets wave, 

And iter r evening bugles plaj ; 

Wner ange-bonghs above their grave 

Keep green the memory of the brave 
w ho (oaght and [eU al Monterej . 

We are not many — we who pressed 

Beside the brave who fell that day; 
Bat who oi 11- has not confessed 
He'd rather share their warrior rest 

Than not have been at Monterey? 

I 11 ua.i - Fenno Hoffman. 



BATTLE-HYMN OF T 1 1 E REPUBLIC. 

nO[ ! N I", eyes have seen the glory of the coming of Let the Hero, horn of woman, crash the serpent w ith 

<•***» the i.oni . his heel, 

lie i- trampling out the vintage where the Since God is marching on." . 

grapes of wrath are stored: , 

rjj hath loosed the fateful lightnings of his terrible, He ta mded forth "'" "'""""■' " ,: " ~ lia " Qever ' :lU 

swifi Bword: retreat; 

BUs truth is marchii He,a ***** I,r ^eartsofmen before hi- judgment- 

scat; 

I have seen him in the watch-fires of ahundred circling 0, be swif t, mj soul, to answer himl be jubilant, 

camp-; my feel I 

They have builded him an altar In the evening dews <)m God is marchu 1 

and damp-: 

Iran read hi- righteous sentence by the dim and liar- lu ,h " ***** "'' "'" Mli "~ ' ''"'' M U; '~ '"""" : " TOSS th ° 

in<; lamp- : ~'' :l " 

EQs day is marching on With a glory in hi- hosom that transfigures you and 

me; 

I have read a fiery gospel, writ in burnished rows of As he died to make men holy, let us die ro make men 

steel: free. 

*'As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my While God is marching on 

grace shall deal : JcLIA Ward H owe. 



>•;■. 



MY MARYLAND. 



1 



HE despot's heel is on thy shore, 
Maryland! 
BUs torch is at thy temple door, 

Maryland! 
Avenge the patriotic gore 
That flecked the streets of Baltimore, 
And be the battle queen of yore. 

Maryland, my Maryland ! 



Hark to an exiled son's appeal, 

Maryland! 
My Mother State, to thee I kneel. 

M 11 \ land : 

For life or death, for woe or weal. 
Thy peerless chivalry reveal. 
And gird thy beauteous limbs with steel, 
Maryland, my Maryland! 



240 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



Thou wilt not cower in the dust, 

Maryland ! 
Thy beaming sword shall never rusfc, 

Maryland ! 
Remember Carroll's sacred trust, 
Remember Howard's warlike thrust, 
And all thy slumberers with the just, 

Maryland, my Maryland ! 

Come ! 'tis the red dawn of the day 

Maryland ! 
Come with thy panoplied array, 

Maryland ! 
With Ringgold's spirit for the fray, 
With Watson's blood at Monterey, 
With fearless Lowe and dashing May, 

Maryland, my Maryland ! 

Dear Mother, burst the tyrant's chain, 

Maryland ! 
Virginia should not call in vain, 

Maryland ! 
She meets her sisters on the plain, 
" Sic semper ! " 'tis the proud refrain 
That baffles minions back amain, 

Maryland ! 
Arise in majesty again, 

Maryland, my Maryland ! 

Come ! for thy shield is bright and strong, 

Maryland ! 
Come ! for thy dalliance does thee wrong, 

Maryland ! 



Come to thine own heroic throng 
Stalking with Liberty along, 
And chant thy dauntless slogan-song, 
Maryland, my Maryland! 

I see the blush upon thy cheek, 

Maryland ! 
But thou wast ever bravely meek, 

Maryland ! 
Rut lo ! there surges forth a shriek, 
From hill to hill, from creek to creek, 
Potomac calls to Chesapeake, 

Maryland, my Maryland! 

Thou wilt not yield the Vandal toll, 

Maryland ! 
Thou wilt not crook to his control, 

Maryland ! 
Better the fire upon thee roll, 
Better the shot, the blade, the bowl, 
Than crucifixion of the soul, 

Maryland, my Maryland ! 

I hear the distant thunder-hum ! 

Maryland ! 
The " Old Line's " bugle, fife and drum, 

Maryland ! 
She is not dead, nor deaf, nor dumb; 
Huzza ! she spurns the Northern scum — 
She breathes! She burns! She'll come! She'll come { 
Maryland, my Maryland ! 

James R. Randall. 



THE COUNTERSIGN. 



jAS ! the weary hours pass slow, 

The night is very dark and still ; 
And in the marshes far below 
I hear the bearded whippoorwill ; 
I scarce can see a yard ahead, 

My ears are strained to catch each sound ; 
I hear the leaves about me shed, 
And the spring's bubbling through the ground. 

Along the beaten path I pace, 

Where white rags mark my sentry's track; 
In formless shrubs I seem to trace 

The foeinan's form with bending back, 
I think I see him crouching low : 

I stop and list — I stoop and peer, 
Until the neighboring hiilocks grow 

To groups of soldiers far and near. 

With ready piece I wait and watch, 

Until my eyes, familiar grown, 
Detect each harmless earthern notch, 

And turn guerrillas into stone; 



And then, amid the lonely gloom, 
Beneath the tall old chestnut trees, 

My silent marches I resume, 
And think of other times than these. 

"Halt! Who goes there?" my challenge cry, 

It rings along the watchful line ; 
"Relief !" I hear a voice reply; 

"Advance, and give the countersign!" 
With bayonet at the charge I wait — 

The corporal gives the mystic spell; 
With arms aport I charge my mate, 

Then onward pass, and all is well. 

But in the tent that night awake, 

I ask, if in the fray I fall, 
Can I the mystic answer make 

When the angelic sentries call? 
And pray that Heaven may so ordain, 

Where'er I go, what fate be mine, 
Whether in pleasure or in pain. 

I still may have the countersign. 



CAMP AND BATTLE. 



.'41 



TIIE PICKET GUARD. 




quiet along the Potomac," they say, 

"Except now and then a stra) picket 

is shot, as he walk- on his beal to and fro, 

By a rifleman hid in the thicket j 
" T h nothing— a private or two now and then 
WD] ""I count in the news oi the battle; 
Not an officer lost — only one of tin- men, 
Moaning out, all alum-. Ui< death-rattle." 

All quiet along the Potomac to-night, 

Where the Boldiera li.- peacefully dreaming; 
Their tents in the ray- oi the clear autumn moon. 

Or the light of the watch-fires, arc gleaming. 
A tremulous sigh, as the gentle night-wind 

Through the forest-leaves softly is creeping; 
While Btara up above, with their glittering eyes, 

Keep guard — tor the arm] Is Bleeping. 

There 'a only the Bound of the tone sentry's tread, 
As he tramps from the rock to the fountain, 

And think- of the two in the low trundle-bed 
Far away In the cot on the i intain. 

J I i ~ musket falls Black- -his race, dark and grim, 
Grows gentle with memories tender, 



As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep, 
For their mother— may Heaven defend her! 

The moon seem- to Bhine jusl as brightly as then, 

That night, when the love yet unspoken 
Leaped up to bis lip — when tow -murmured vowa 

Were pledged to be ever unbroken. 
Then drawing his sleeve roughlj over his 

He dashes off tears that are welling, 
And gathers his gun closer up to Its place, 

As it to keep down the heart-swelling. 

He passes the fountain, the blasted pine-tr — 

The footBti p is I wear) ; 

Yet onward he goes, through the broad bell of light. 

Toward the -had.- ol the foresl bo dreary. 
Hark! was it the night-wind that rustled the leaves? 

Waa it alight bo Buddenly flashing? 

It looked like a rifle ■• Ah! Mar) . g l-bye!" 

And the life-blood i- ebbing and plashing. 

All quiet along the Potomac to-night ; 

\ sound save the rush of the river; 
While soft falls the dew ou tin fat ofthedead— 

The picket '- off dutj forever! 

Flint Lynn Beers. 



BETHEL. 



mustered at midnight, In darkness we formed, As ye dance with the damsels, to viol and flute, 
And the whisper wenl round of a tori skipped from the shadows, and mocked their 

-ton 1: pursuit; 

jj But no drum-beal had called as, no trumpet But the soft zephyrs chased us, with scents of the 
we heard, morn, 

And no voice of command, bul our Colonel's low As we passed by the hay-flelds and green waving 
word. — corn. — 

"Column! Forward!" "Column! Forward!" 



And out, through the misl and the murk of the morn, For the leaves were all laden with fragrance of June, 



From the beach.'- of Hampton om- barges were horn.-: 

And we heard nol a - id. save the sweep of the 

oar. 
Till the word of our < lolonel came np from the shore — 

•■t ohiinii! Forward ! " 



And the flowers and the foliage with sweets were in 
tune; 

And the air was so calm, and the forest so dumb, 
That wc heard our own heart-beats, like taps of a 
drum. — 

"Column! Forward!" 



With hearts bounding bravely, and eyes all alight, 
A- ye dance to soft music, so trod we thai night : 
Through the aisles of the greenwood, with vines over 

arched, 
Tossing dew-drops, like gems, from our feet, as we And the glintings of glory that slid from her track 

marched, — By the sheen of our rifles were gayly flung back,— 

"Column! Forward!" ••Column! Forward!'* 



Till the lull of the lowlands was stirred by a breeze, 
And the buskins of Morn brushed the tops i ' the 

tree-. 



242 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



And the woodlands grew purple with sunshiny mist, 

And the hlue-crested hill-tops with roselight were 
kissed, 

And the earth gave her prayers to the sua in per- 
fumes, 

Till we marched as through gardens, and trampled on 
blooms, — 

"Column! Forward!" 

Ay! trampled on blossoms, and seared the sweet 

breath 
Of the greenwood with low-brooding vapors of death ; 
O'er the flowers and the corn we were borne like a 

blast, 
And away to the fore-front of battle we passed,— 
•"Column! Forward!" 

For the cannon's hoarse thunder roared out from the 

glades, 
And the sun was like lightning on banners and 

blades, 



When the long line of chanting Zouaves, like a flood, 
From the green of the woodlands rolled, crimson as 
blood, — ■ 

"Column! Forward! " 

While the sound of their song, like the surge of the 

seas, 
With the "Star-Spangled Banner" swelled over the 

leas; 
And the sword of Duryea, like a torch led the way, 
Bearing down on the batteries of Bethel that day, — 
" Column ! Forward ! " 

Through green-tasselled corn-fields our columns were 

thrown, 
And like corn by the red scythe of fire we were mown; 
While the cannon's fierce ploughings new-furrowed 

the plain, 
That our blood might be planted for Liberty's grain, — 
" Column ! Forward ! " 

***** 

Augustine J. II. Duganne. 



CIVIL WAR. 



. .«ifg . 



"|p3|lFLEMAN", shoot me a fancy shot 
Wim Straight at the heart of yon prowling 
X vidette ; 

I Ring me a ball in the glittering spot 

That shines on his breast like an amulet! " 

"Ah, Captain! here goes for a fine-drawn bead 
There 's music around when my barrel 's in tune ! " 

Crack! went the rifle, the messenger sped, 
And dead from his horse fell the ringing dragoon. 

"Now, Rifleman, steal through the bushes, and snatch 
From your victim some trinket to handsel first 
blood — 

A button, a loop, or that luminous patch 

That gleams in the moon like a diamond stud." 

44 Captain ! I staggered, and sunk on my track, 
When I gazed on the face of that fallen vidette ; 



For he looked so like you as he lay on his back, 
That my heart rose upon me, and masters me yet. 

"But I snatched off the trinket — this locket of gold; 

An inch from the centre my lead broke its way, 
Scarce grazing the picture, so fair to behold, 

Of a beautiful lady in bridal array." 

"Ha! Rifleman, fling me the locket! — 'tis she, 

My brother's young bride, and the fallen dragoon 
Was her husband — Hush! soldier, 't was Heaven's 



We must bury him here, by the light of the moon! 

"But, hark! the far bugles their warnings unite; 

War is a virtue — weakness a sin; 
There 's lurking and loping around us to-night; 

Load again, Rifleman, keep your hand in! " 

Charles Dawson Shanlt. 



: < HOW ARE YOU, SANITARY?" 



ll||ijOWN" the picket-guarded lane 

Rolled the comfort-laden wain, 
'j^dc Cheered by shouts that shook the plain, 
Soldier-like and merry: 
Phrases such as camps may teach, 
Sabre-cuts of Saxon speech, 
Such as " Bully! " " Them's the peach! 
"Wade in, Sanitary! " 



Right and left the caissons drew 
As the car went lumbering through, 
Quick sTicceeding in review 

Squadrons military ; 
Sunburnt men with beards like frieze, 
Smooth-faced boys, and cries like these, — 
" U. S. San. Com." " That's the cheese! " 

" Pass in, Sanitary! " 



< AMP AND BATTLE. 



2i6 



In mcta cheer ii struggled on 
Till the battle in. in was won, 
Then the car, its journej done, 

I.d! was stationary ; 
And whin- bullets whistling fly, 
Came the Badder, fainter cry, 
•' Help us, brothers, ere we di>-. - 

bave u-. Sanitarj ! " 



Such the work. Che phantom files, 
u rapped in battle clouds thai rise; 
But the brave — whose dying eyes, 

Veiled and visionary, 
See the jasper gates sw ung « ide, 
See the parted throng outside — 
Hears the voice t" those who ride: 

■ i" iss in. Sanitary! " 

I; i 



Haute. 




"Howhesti ve saw his blade brighten 

In the i ft,— and tlie reins in his teeth I " 



ki:ai;m:y AT SEVEN PINES. 

[May 3 i, 

fO that soldierly legend is still on its journey,— Where the red volleys poured, where the clamor rose 

Thai -i..ry of Kearney who knew not to highest, 

yrald! Where the dead lay in clumps through the dwarf 

'Twasa day when with Jameson, fierce Berry, oak and pine. 

:l " • Birney, Where the aim from the thicket was surest and nigh- 

Against twenty thousand he rallied the est,— 

X'i charge like 1'liil Kearney's along the whole line. 



lield. 



244 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



When the battle went ill, and the bravest were solemn, 
Near the dark Seven Pines, where we still held our 
ground, 

He rode down the length of the withering column, 
And his heart at our war-cry leapt up with a bound ; 

He snuffed, like his charger, the wind of our powder, — 
His sword waved us on and we answered the sign : 

Loud our cheer as we rushed, but his laugh rang the 



" There 's the devil's own fun, boys, along the whole 
line ! " 

How he strode his brown steed! How we saw his 
blade brighten 
In the one hand still left, — and the reins in his 
teeth ! 
He laughed like a boy wheu the holidays heighten, 
But a soldier's glance shot from his visor beneath. 



Up came the reserves to the mellay infernal, 
Asking where to go in, — through the clearing or 
pine? 

'• O, anywhere ! Forward ! 'T is all the same, Colonel : 
You "11 find lovely righting along the whole line! " 

O, evil the black shroud of night at Chantilly, 

That hid him from sight of his brave men and tried! 
Foul, foul sped the bullet that clipped the white lily, 
The flower of our knighthood, the whole army's 
pride ! 
Yet we dream that he still, — in that shadowy region 
Where the dead form their ranks at the wan drum- 
mer's sign, — 
Rides on, as of old, down the length of his legion, 
And the word still is Forward! along the whole 
line. 

Edmund Clarence Stedman. 



THE OLD SERGEANT. 

[The " Carrier's New Year Address " of The Louisville Journal, January 1 



1S63.] 



"HF Carrier cannot sing to-day the bal~ And who told the story to the Assistant Sur- 
f/eon 
On the same night that he died. 

But the singer feels it will better suit the bal- 
lad, 

If all should deem it right, 
To tell the story as if what it speaks of 

Mad happened but last night. 



lads 
With which he used to go 
^Rhyming the glad rounds of the happy JVew 
Tears 
That are now beneath the sjiow: 

Fo?* the same awful and portentous Shadow 

That overcast the earth, 
And sjnote the land last year with desolatio?i, 

Still darkens every hearth. 



And the Carrier hears Beethoven's mighty " Comc a little nearer, Doctor, -thank you; let me 



death - m arc7i 
Come up from every mart, 
And he hears and feels it breathing in his 
bosom, 
And beating in his heart. 

And to-day, a scarred and weather-beaten 
veteran, 

Again he comes along, 
To tell the story of the Old Year's struggles 

In another JVew Tear's song. 

And the song is his, but not so with the story; 

For the story, you must know. 
Was told in prose to Assistant-Surgeon 
Austin, 

By a soldier of Shiloh : 

By ^Robert Burton, who was brought up on 
the Adams, 
With his death-wound in his side; 



take the cup : 
Draw your chair up, — draw it closer; just another 

little sup ! 
May be you may think I'm better; but I'm pretty 

well used up, — 
Doctor, you've done all you could do, but I'm just 

a-going up! 



" Feel my pulse, sir, if you Avant to, but it aint much 

use to try" — 
" Never say that." said the Surgeon, as he smothered 

down a sigh ; 
"It will never do, old comrade, for a soldier to say 

die! " 
"What you say will make no difference, Doctor, 

wheu you come to die." 

"Doctor, what has been the matter?" "You wex-e 

very faint, they say ; 
You must try to get to sleep now." "Doctor, have I 

been away? " 



CAMP ami BATTLE. 



245 



"Not thai anybodj knows of!" "Doctor— Doctor, 

please to stay! 
There Is something 1 musl tell you, and you won'l 

have long to staj ! 

" I bave u"i mj marching orders, and I'm ready now 

to go; 
Doctor, did you saj I fainted?— bnl it couldn'l ba 1 

been 
t'ov a- sure :i- I'm a Sergeant, and was wounded al 

Sllilcill. 

I've this verj nlghl been back there, on the old field 
ol Sbiloh! 

"This Is all thai I remember: The lasl time the 

Lighter came, 
And the lights ha<l all been lowered, and the noises 

much the same, 
Ee bad not been gone Ave minutes before something 

called mj nam.- : 

•okmuii Sergeani Roberi Burton!' — just 
that was ii called mj name. 



III. I .all 



o distinct!) 



•• Ami I \\ ondered wh 

ami SO BlO« . 

Knew || couldn'l be the Lighter, he could nol bave 

spoken bo, 
Ami I tried i" answer, 'Here, sir! 1 bul I couldn't 

make it ir<>: 

For l couldn'l move a muscle, and l couldn'l make it 

" Then I though) : It's all a nightmare, all a humbug 

ami a bore; 
Just another foolish grape-vine* — and ii won'l come 

any more; 
But ii came, sir, notwithstanding, jusl the -aim' way 

a- before : 
■Orderly Sergeant — Roberi Burton!'— even 

louder than before. 

"That Is all thai 1 remember, till a sudden bursl of 
light, 

And I stood beside the River, where we si 1 thai 

Sundaj night, 

Waiting i" be ferried over to the dark bluffs opposite, 

When the river was perdition, and all bell was oppo- 
site!— 

'* And the same old palpitation came again in all its 

power, 
Aud I heard a Bugle sounding, a- from -.urn' celestial 

Tower; 
And the same mysterious voice said: 'It i- nuc 

Elevkntii Hoik: 
Orderly Sk.kckam — Kohert Burton — it is the 

Eleventh Hoi r1 ' 

•Afalse story, a hoax. 



"Dr. Austin!— whal day is this? " •• It i- Wednes- 
day night, j ou know." 

"Yes. -to-morrow will i»- New Sear's, aud a right 
g I time below ! 

What time i- it, Dr. Austin?" "Nearly Twelve." 
• l 'ii. ii don'l you _ 

Can it be thai all this happened all this not au 

hmii 

"There was where the gunboats opened on the dark 

rebellious hosl ; 
And where Webster semi-circled bis lasl guns npon 

the coasi ; 
There were -till the two log-houses, jusl the same, or 

else their gn 
Ami the same old transport i ame and took me over— 

or it- ghosl ! 

•■ \iid the "id field laj before me, all deserted, tax 

ami wide: 
There was where thej fell on Prentiss — there tfc- 

i lernand mel the tide ; 
There was where stern Sherman rallied, and where 

Hurlbut's heroes died, — 
Lower down, where Wallace charged them, and kept 

charging till be died. 

"There was where Lew Wallace showed them bi -j 

ut the canny kin, 
There was where old Nelson thundered, and wb 9 

Rousseau waded in: 
There Mel ""k senl 'em i" breakfast, and we all 

to win- 
There was where the grape-shol took me, jusl as wo 

began to win. 

•• Now, a shroud ol snow and silence over everj thing 

was spread ; 
And bul for this old blue mantle and the old bal on 

my head, 
I -ii.. ii M not hare even doubted, to this moment, I was 

dead, — 
For my footsteps were is 3ilen1 as the snow upon tin 

dead! 

" Death and silenci [—Death and silence! all around 

mi- i- I sped ! 
Aud behold, a mighty Tower, as it' builded b 

dead, 
To flu 'ii" beavens lifted up its mighty 

bead, 
Till the Stars and Stripes of Heaven all seemed waving 

from its bi 

'•Round and mighty based it towered up into the 

infinite — 
Aud I knew no mortal mason could have built a shaft 

so bright; 



246 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



For it shone like .solid sunshine ; and a winding stair 

of light 
Wound around it and around it till it Avound clear out 

of sight! 

44 And, behold, as I approached it — with a rapt and 

dazzled stare, — 
Thinking that I saw old comrades just ascending the 

great stair, — 
Suddenly the solemn challenge broke of — 'Halt!' and 

'Who goes there?' 
'I'm a friend,' I said, 'if you are!' 'Then advance, sir, 

to the Stair ! ' 

"I advanced! That sentry, doctor, was Elijah Bal- 

lantyne ! 
First of all to fall on Monday, after we had formed 

the line ! 
'Welcome, my old Sergeant, welcome ! Welcome by 

that countersign ! ' 
And he pointed to the scar there, under this old cloak 

of mine. 

"As he grasped my hand I shuddered, thinking only 
of the grave ; 

But he smiled and pointed upward, with a bright and 
bloodless glaive : 

'That's the way, sir, to Headquarters.' 'What Head- 
quarters?' "Of the Brave!' 



'But the great Tower?' 'That was builded of the 
great deeds of the Brave!' 

"Then a sudden shame came o'er me at his uniform of 
light; 

At my own so old and battered, and at his so new and 
bright; 

'Ah ! ' said he, 'you have forgotten the new uniform to- 
night!' 

'Hurry back, — you must be here at just twelve o'clock 
to-night ! ' 

"And the next thing I remember, you were sitting there 

and I — 

Doctor — did you hear a footstep? Hark! — God bless 

you all ! Good bye ! 
Doctor, please to give my musket and my knapsack, 

when I die, 
To my son— my son that's coming — he won't get here 

till I die ! 

"Tell him his old father blessed him — as he never did 

before, — 
And to carry that old musket" Hark! a knock is 

at the door! 

"Till the Union" See! it opens!- "Father! 

Father! speak once more!" 
"Bless you" — gasped the old gray Sergeant. And he 

lay and said no more ! 

FORCEYTHE WlLLSON. 



SHERIDAN'S RIDE. 



sPfffP from the South at break of day 

Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay, 
X The affrighted air with a shudder bore, 
* Like a herald in haste, to the chieftain's door, 
The terrible grumble, and rumble, and roar, 
Telling the battle was on once more, 
And Sheridan twenty miles away. 

And wider still those billows of war 
Thundered along the horizon's bar ; 
And louder yet into Winchester rolled 
The roar of that red sea uncontrolled, 
Making the blood of the listener cold. 
As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray, 
And Sheridan twenty miles away. 

But there is a road from Winchester town, 

A good, broad highway leading down ; 

And there through the flush of the morning lig' , 

A steed as black as the steeds of night 

Was seen to pass, as with eagle flight. 

As if he knew the terrible need, 

He stretched away with his utmost speed ; 

Hills rose and fell ; but his heart was gay, 

With Sheridan fifteen miles away. 



Still sprung from those swift hoofs, thundering South 

The dust, like smoke from the cannon's mouth, 

Or the trail of a comet, sweeping faster and faster, 

Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster. 

The heart of the steed and the heart of the master 

Were beating like prisoners assaulting their walls, 

Impatient to be where the battlefield calls ; 

Every nerve of the charger was strained to full play-j 

With Sheridan only ten miles away. 

Under his spurning feet, the road 

Tike an arrowy Alpine river flowed, 

And the landscape sped away behind 

Like an ocean flying before the wind, 

And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace ire, 

Swept on, with his wild eye full of fire. 

But lo! he is nearing his heart's desire; 

He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray, 

With Sheridan only five miles away. 

The first that the General saw were the groups 
Of stragglers, and then the retreating troops; 
What was done, — what to do, — a glance told him 

both, 
4nd striking his spurs, with a terrible oath, 



CAMP AND BATTLE. 



*47 



He dashed down the line, 'mid a storm of huzzas, 
And the wave of retreat checked it- coarse there 

because 
The sight of the master compelled it to pause. 
With foam and with dus( the black charger was 

gray ; 
By the flash of his eye. and his red nostril's play. 
He seemed to the whole great army to saj . 
"I have brought you Sheridan all (he way 
From Wlnche ter down to save the day." 



Hurrah, hurrah for Sheridan! 

Hurrah, hurrah for horse ami man! 

And when their statues an- placed on high, 

[Jnder tie- dome "t the Union -k\ . 

The American soldiers' Temple "i Fame,— 

There with the glorious t teneral's name 

Be it said in letters both bold and bright : 

•• ll. -n- is the steed that saved the day 

J'.y earn Ing Sheridan Into the fight, 

From Winchester, — twentj miles away!" 

I l!"M \- Bl 'IIANAS Rt AD. 




I I 

Stead} . tlnj whole brigade 1" 



ST< iNEWALL JACKSi >N'S W \ Y. 



E, oheerily, men, pile on the rails, 
And stir the camp-flres bright ; 
Xo matter if the canteen fails. 

We'll haw a roaring nighl ! 
Here Shenandoah brawls along, 
There burly Blue-Ridge echoes strong, 
To swell the brig ide's rousing Bong 
Of Stonewall rackson's u.n ! 



w e see him now — Ids old slouched hat 

i oi laid o'er his eye askew . 
Hi- shrewd, dry -mile, hi- -|> sh so pat, 

s,, calm, so blunt, so true; 
The blue-light Elder knows "em well. 
Says he, "That's Hank — he'sfondof shell! 
Lord save hi- soul— we'll give him Hell!" 

That's Stonewall Jackson's way! 



248 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



Silence ! Ground arms ! Kneel all ! Hats off ! 

Old Stonewall's going to pray ! 
Strangle the fool that dares to scoff ! 

Attention ! 'Tis his way ! 
Kneeling upon his native sod 
In forma pauperis to God — 
"Lay bare thine arm ! Stretch forth thy rod! 

Amen ! ' ' That's Stonewall's way ! 

He's in the saddle now — Fall in ! 

Steady, the whole brigade ! 
Hill's at the Ford, cut off ! We'll win 

His way out, ball or blade ! 
No matter if our shoes be worn, 
No matter if our feet be torn, — 
Quick step ! We'll with him before morn, 

In Stonewall Jackson's way ! 



The sun's bright lances rout the mists 
Of morning, and, by George! — 

There's Longstreet struggling in the lists, 
Hemmed by an ugly gorge ; 

"Pope and his Yankees whipped before! 

Bayonets and grape!'' hear Stonewall roar; 

"Charge, Stuart! Pay off Ashby's score, 
In Stonewall Jackson's way!'' 

Ah, woman! wait, and watch, and yearn 

For news of Stonewall's band! 
Ah, widow ! read with eyes that burn 

That ring upon thy hand ! 
Ah, maiden! weep on, hope on, pray on I 
Thy lot is not so all forlorn — 
The foe had better ne'er been born 

That gets in Stonewall's way! 

J. W. Palmeh. 



BARBARA FRIETCHIE. 



pP from the meadows rich with corn, 
Clear in the cool September morn, 

The clustered spires of Frederick stand, 
Green-walled by the hills of Maryland. 

Round about them orchards sweep, 
Apple and peach tree fruited deep,' 

Fair as a garden of the Lord. 

To the eyes of the famished rebel horde, 

On that pleasant morn of the early Fall, 
When Lee marched over the mountain wall, 

Over the mountains winding down, 
Horse and foot, into Frederick town. 

Forty flags with their silver stars, 
Forty flags with their crimson bars, 



Flapped in the mornii 
Of noon looked down 



5 wind : the sun 
and saw not one. 



Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then, 
Bowed with her fourscore years and ten; 

Bravest of all in Frederick town. 

She took up the flag the men hauled down. 

In her attic-window the staff she set, 
To show that one heart was loyal yet. 

Up the street came the rebel-tread, 
Stonewall Jackson riding ahead. 

Under his slouched hat left and right 
He glanced : the old flag met his sight. 



"Halt! " — the dust-brown ranks stood fast; 
"Fire! " — out blazed the rifle-blast. 

It shivered the window, pane and sash, 
It rent the banner with seam and gash. 

Quick, as it fell from the broken staff, 
Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf; 

She leaned far out on the window-sill, 
And shook it forth with a royal will. 

"Shoot, if you must, this old gray head, 
But spare your country's flag! " she said. 

A shade of sadness, a blush of shame, 
Over the face of the leader came ; 

The nobler nature within him stirred 
To life at that woman's deed and word. 

"Who touches a hair of yon gray head 
Dies like a dog! March on ! " he said. 

All day long through Frederick street 
Sounded the tread of marching feet; 

All day long that free flag tossed 
Over the heads of the rebel host. 

Ever its torn folds rose and fell 

On the loyal winds that loved it well; 

And through the hill-gaps sunset light 
Shone over it with a warm good-night. 

Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er. 

And the rebel rides on his raids no more. 



249 



Honor t<> her! and lei a tear 

Fall, for her Bake, on Stonewall's bier. 

Over Barbara Prietchie's -raw. 
Flag of Freedom and Onion, wave! 



Peace and order and beauty draw 
Round tin sj mbol ol lighl and law ; 

And ever the stars above look dow a 
on thj stars below Ln Fredericli town. 

.]..||\ i .i;i 1 Ml LI WniTTIF.R. 



JOHN BURNS OF GETTYSBURG 



■BA\T: you bran! Ill'- -tory the go-ip- tell 

HH Of John Burns ol Gettysburg? No? Ah, well, 
^?r Brief Is the glory thai hero cam-. 

Briefer the stoi-j oi p John Burns; 

He was the fellow who won renown — 

Th i\ man who didn't back down 

When the rebels rode through bis native town; 
But held his own in the fight next day, 

Wh.'ii all hi- townsfolk ran away. 

Thai was in JtHj . sixtj -three, — 
The very daj thai Genera] Lee, 
The flower of Southern chivalrj . 
Baffled and beaten, backward reeled 
From a stubborn Meade and a barren field. 

I might bell how, i>m the day before, 

John Burns Bt 1 at bis cottage-door, 

Looking down the village street, 
Where, to the shade of bis peaceful vine, 
He heard the low of bis gathered lone, 
And fdi their breath with Incense sweet; 

Or, I might say, when the sunsel bur 1 

The old farm gable, be thought It turned 
The milk thai tell in a babbling flood 

Into (he milk-pail, red as bl I; 

Or, how he fancied the I i of bees 

Were bullets buzzing among the trees. 

But all such fanciful thoughts as these 

Were strange to a practical man like Burns, 

Who minded only bis own concerns, 

Troubled no more bj fancies ftnc 

Than our of bis calm-eyed, long-tailed kinc. 

Qnlte old-fashioned, and matter-of-fact, 

Slow to argue, but quick to ai I 

Thai was the reas »n, as some folks say, 

He fought so well on thai terrible da] ■ 

And il was terrible. On the right 
Raged for hour- the heavy fight, 
Thundered the batter; 's double bass 
Difficult music tor men to face; 
While on the left — where now the graves 
Undulate like the living waves 
That all the day unceasing Bwept 
Up to the pits the rebels kept — 
Round-shot plowed the upland glades, 
Sown with bullets, reaped with blades; 



Shattered fences hen- and th 
Tossed their splinters in the air; 
The verj trees were stripped and bare; 
The barns that once held yellow grain 

Were heaped with harvests Of the -lain: 

The cattle bellowed on tie- plain. 

The turkeys screamed with might and main, 

And br ling barn-fowl lefl their resl 

With strange shells bursting in each nest 

Jusl « here the tide ol battle turns, 

ad Lonerj . stood old John Burns. 

How do yon think the man was dressed? 
He wore an ancient, long buff vest, 
Yellow as saffron — bul hi- best ; 
And. buttoned over hi- manlj breasl 
Was a brighl blue coal with a rolling collar, 
And large gilt buttons size oi adollar- 
Wiih tail- that countrj -i. ilk called •■ -\\ 
lie won- a broad-brimmed, bell-crow ned 
White as tie- locks "ii « hich ii sat 
Never had such a sight been seen 
For forty years on the village-green, 

Since John Ibirn- wa- a coiintn h 
And went to il milting" long ago. 

Close at hi- elbows, all that day 
Veterans "i the Peninsula, 

Mini, unit and bearded, ch trged away. 

And -n ipltoj I 'hilt. _ 

Clerks that the lb. Guard mustered in- 
Glanced I al tie- hat hi 
Then at the rifle hi- righl hand bore; 
And hailed him from oul their youthful lo 
Wiih scraps of as] 

••How are you, White Hat? " "Put her through?' 
•• Your head's level! " and. ■■ Bully tor yon! '" 
call-d him •• Daddy " —and begged he'd di 
The name of the tailor who made hi- clothes, 
And w hat wa- the value he set on those; 
While Burns, unmindful ol jeer and - off, 
stood there picking the rebels off — 
Wiih his long brown rifle and bell-crown hat. 
And the -wallow -tail- they were laughing at. 

•Twas hut a moment, for that respect 

Which clothe^ all courage their voices cheeked; 



250 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



And something the wildest could understand 
Spake in the old man's strong right hand, 
And his corded throat, and the lurking frown 
Of his eyebrows under his old bell-crown; 
Until, as they gazed, there crept an awe 
Through the ranks in whispers, and some men saw, 
In the antique vestments and long white nair 
The Past of the Nation in battle there. 
And some of the soldiers since declare 
That the gleam of his old white hat afar, 
Like the crested plume of the brave Navarre, 
That day was their oriflamme of war. 



Thus raged the battle. You know the rest; 
How the rebels, beaten, and backward pressed, 
Broke at the final charge and ran. 
At which John Burns — a practical man — 
Shouldered his rifle, unbent his brows, 
And then went back to his bees and cows. 

This is the story of old John Burns ; 

This is the moral the reader learns : 

In fighting the battle, the question's whether 

You'll show a hat that's white, or a feather. 

Bret Harte. 



THE CHARGE BY THE FORD. 



flGHTY and nine with their captain, 
* Rode on the enemy's track, 
j Rode in the gray of the morning — 
Nine of the ninety came back. 

Slow rose the mist from the river, 
Lighter each moment the way ; 

Careless and tearless and fearless 
Galloped they on to the fray. 

Singing in tone, how the scabbards, 
Loud on the stirrup-irons rang, 

Clinked as the men rose in saddle, 
Fell as they sank with a clang. 

What is it moves by the river, 
Jaded and weary and weak? 

Gray -backs— a cross on their banner — 
Yonder the foe whom they seek. 

Silence ! They see not, tbey hear not, 
Tarrying there by the marge : 

Forward! Draw sabre! Trot! Gallop! 
Charge ! like a hurricane, charge. 

Ah ! 'twas a man-trap infernal — 
Fire like the deep pit of hell! 



Volley on volley to meet them, 
Mixed with the gray rebel's yell. 

Ninety had ridden to battle, 

Tracing the enemy's track — 
Ninety had ridden to battle ; 

Nine of the ninety came back. 

Honor the name of the ninety; 

Honor the heroes who came 
Scatheless from five hundred muskets, 

Safe from the lead-bearing flame. 

Eighty and one of the troopers 

Lie on the field on the slain — 
Lie on the red field of honor — 

Honor the nine who remain ! 

Cold are the dead there, and goiy, 
There where their life-blood was spilt; 

Back come the living, each sabre 
Red from the point to the hilt. 

Up with three cheers and a tiger! 

Let the flags wave as they come ! 
Give them the blare of the trumpet! 

Give them the roll of the drum! 

Thomas Dunn English. 



THE CAVALRY CHARGE. 




TH bray of the trumpet 

And roll of the drum, 
keen ring of bugle, 

The cavalry come. 
Sharp clank the steel scabbards, 

The bridle-chains Ting, 
And foam from red nostrils 

The wild charters llinff. 



Tramp ! tramp ! o'er the greensward 

That quivers below, 
Scarce held by the curb-bit 

The fierce horses go ! 
And the grim-visaged colonel, 

With ear-rending shout, 
Peals forth to the squadrons 

The order,— "Trot out! " 



CAMP AM. BATTLE. 



2S. 



On.- hand on the sabre, 

And one on the rein, 
The troopers move forward 

In line .'" Hi.- plain. 
As rings Hi.- word, ■■ Gallop I " 

'i'li.- Bteel scabbards clank, 
And each rowel i- pressed 

'1'.. :i horse's hoi flank: 
An'] s\\ in is their rush 

A- ili>- w Ud torrent's flow, 
When it pours from the crag 

On lip- valley below . 

" ( {barge! " thundei*s the leader; 

Like Bhafl from the bow 
Each in:i.l horse is hurled 

on the wavering toe. 
A thousand bright sabres 

An- gleaming in air; 
A thousand dark borses 

Are dashed on the square. 

BeslBtless ami reckless 

Of aught may hcti.l.-. 

Like demons, nol mortals, 

'I'll.- wild troopers ride. 
Cm rlghtl ami .in leftl— 
For iln- parrj who needs? 

Tin- hay, 11. -I- -hive- 

Like wind-scattered reeds. 



Vain — vain the red volley 

That bursts from the ->|uare,— 
The random-shot bullets 

Are wasted in air. 
Triumphant, remorseless, 

I [herring a- death, 
Nn sabre thai 's stainless 

Returns i" Its sheath. 

Th.- wounds thai an- dealt 

By that murderous Bteel 
Will never j ield case 

For the surgeon to beaL 
Hurrah! the) an- broken— 

Burrah ! bo] -. they fly — 
None linger save those 

Who but Linger to >li.-. 

li.in ii]. your hot hoi 

And call in your men, 
Tin- trumpet Bounds " Rally 

To colors " again. 
Some Baddies are emptj , 

Some comrades an- -lain. 
And Bome noble tun jes 

Lie lark .,11 the plain; 
Jiut war '> a chance game, boys, 

And weeping is vain. 



ITtANCIS A. Dl RIVAOK. 



J^OC^ 



I AVALRY SONG: 



O' 



JB g 1 Bteeds snuff the evening air, 

pulses with their purpose tingle; 
IF The foeman's flres an- tw inkling there; 
I!.- leaps i" bear our sabres jiugle! 

11 LLTl 
Each carbine Bends ii- whizzing hall: 
' Now, cling! clangl forward all. 

Int.. th.- tight: 

Dash "ii beneath th.- smoking dome: 

Through level lightnings gallop nearer! 
One look t>> Heaven! No thoughts "i home: 

The guidons that wo hear an- dearer. 



( 11 UKG1 : 
Cling! clan;;: forward all.' 

Heaven belp those n bose borses fall: 
1 ill Lit ami right ! 

They flee before our fierce attack ! 

They fall! they spread in broken surges. 
Now, comrades, bear our wounded hack, 
And leave the foeman in his dirges. 

Whi 1 l! 
The bugles sound tin- -w i ft recall; 
Cling! clang! backward all! 

Home, and good night! 

Edmund Clarence Stedman. 



JTK 1. ink my arm-, and while I forced my way 
Aj Through troops of foes, which did our passage 
stay, 

Bis buckler o'er my aged father cast; 

Still fighting, still defending, as I past. 



"1PC.M U ATTLED troops with flowing banners pass 
J^ Through llowery meads, delighted, nor distrust 
The smiling surface; whilst the caverned ground 
Bursts fatal, and involves the hopes of war 
In flery whirls. 



252 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



THE C. 8. ARMY'S COMMISSARY. 



fELL, this is bad! " we sighing said, 
While musing rovmd the bivouac fire, 
And dwelling with a fond desire, 
On home and comforts long since fled. 



" Our tents — they went a year ago; 
Now kettle, spider, frying-pan 
Are lost to us, and as we can 

We live, while marching to and fro. 



" How gaily came we forth at first! 
Our spirits high, with new emprise, 
Ambitious of each exercise, 

And glowing with a martial thirst. 



"Our food has lessened, till at length 
E'en want's gaunt image seems to threat — 
A foe to whom the bravest yet 

Must yield at last his knightly strength. 




But while we 've meat and flour enough 
The bayonet shall be our spit." 



"Equipped as for a holiday. 
With bounteous store of everything 
To use or comfort minist'ring, 

All cheerily we marched away. 



"But while we 've meat and flour enough 
The bayonet shall be our spit — 
The ramrod bake our dough on it— 

A gum-cloth be our kneading trough. 



"But as the struggle fiercer grew, 
Light marching orders came apace, — 
And baggage- wagon soon gave place 

To that which sterner uses knew. 



"We '11 bear privation, danger dare, 
While even these are left to us — 
Be hopeful, faithful, emulous 

Of gallant deeds, though hard our fare! " 



CAM!' ANh I; \ I I 1. 1.. 



i'JJ 



M rhree years and more,'" we grimly sni.l. 
When order came to *■ 14«-st ut will " 
Beside the corn-field on tin; hill, 

As on a weary march we -ped — 



•• 111 ted, ill clad, and shelterless, 
How little cheer In health we know: 
When wounds and illness laj ns low, 

How i funic.-* our -ore ili.-in — I 



"Three years and more we *ve mel the foe 
On many a gory, hard-foughl Held, 
And still we Bwear we cai i yield 

Till Pate shall bring some deeper woe. 



"These flimsy rags, thai scarcely hide 
Onr forms, can uaughl discourage us; 
Bnl Hunger— ah! 11 may be thus 

Thai Fortune shall the strife decide. 




We 'II take, content, tfai 



pplj 



"Three years and more we '\<- struggled on, 
Through torrid heat and winter's chill, 
Nor bated aughl of steadfasl will, 

Though even hope seems almosl u r one. 



•• Bui w bile the corn-fields u r ive supply 
We 'll take, content, the roasting-ear, 
Nor yield us yet to craven fear, 

Bui still press on, to do or die! " 

Ed. Porter Thompson. 



ITTnT: fun- courser, when he hears from far 
sfl§b The sprightly trumpets and the shouts of war. 
Pricks up his car- and trembling with delight, 
Shifts place, and paws, and hopes the promised light: 
On his right shoulder his thick mane reclined. 



Ruffles at -peed, and dances in the wind: 
Eager he stands,— then, starting with abound, 
He turn- the turf, and shakes the solid ground; 
Fire from his eyes, cloud- from his nostrils flow; 
He hears his rider headlong on the foe. 



254 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



SONG OF THE SOLDIERS. 



gOMRADES known in marches many, 
Comrades tried in dangers many, 
Comrades bound by memories many, 

Brothers ever let us be. 
Wounds or sickness may divide us 
Marching orders may divide us, 
But whatever fate betide us, 
Brothers of the heart are we. 



Comrades known by faith the clearest, 
Tried when death wae near and nearest, 
Bound we are by ties the dearest^ 

Brothers evermore to be. 
And if spared and growing older, 
Shoulder still in line with shoulder, 
And with hearts no thrill the colder, 

Brothers ever we shall be. 




By communion of the banner, — 
Crimson, white, and starry banner, 
By the baptism of the banner, 
Children of one Church are we. 



Creed nor faction can divide us, 
Race nor language can divide us, 
Still, whatever fate betide us, 
Children of the flag are we ! 



Charles G. Halpine. 

(Miles O'Reilly.) 



HUl ARK ! heard you not those hoofs of dreadful 

MM note? 

*ff ; Sounds not the clang of conflict on the heath? 

K Saw ye not whom the reeking sabre smote, 
Nor saved your brethren ere they sank beneath 
Tyrants and tyrants' slaves? — The fires of death, 



The bale-fires flash on high: 
rock 



■from rock to 



Each volley tells that thousands cease to breathe; 
Death rides upon the sulphury Siroc, 
Red battle stamps his foot, and nations feel the 
shock. 



DESCRIPTION AND NARRATION". 




ATLANTIC." 



build her long and narrow and deep! 
She shall rut the sea with a scimetar's sweep. 
Whatever betides and whoever may weep! 

Bring out the red wine ! Lift the glass to the 

lip! 
With a roar of great guns, and a "Hip! hip! 
Hurrah! " for the craft, we will christen the ship! 



Dash a draught on the bow! Ah, the spar of white 

wood 
Drips into the sea till it colors the flood 
With the very own double and symbol of blood ! 

Now out with the name of the monarch gigantic 
That shall queen it so grandly when surges are frantic '. 
Child of fire and of iron, God save the " Atlantic i ' 



256 



THE EOYAL GALLERY. 



All aboard, my fine fellows! "Up anchor!" the 

word — 
Ah, never again shall that order he heard, 
For two worlds will he mourning ye gone to a third ! 

To the trumpet of March wild gallops the sea; 
The white-crested troopers are under the lee — 
Old World and New World and Soul- World are three. 



Great garments of rain wrap the desolate night; 
Sweet Heaven disastered is lost to the sight ; 
"Atlantic," crash on in the pride of thy might! 
With thy look-out's dim cry " One o'clock, and all 
right!" 

Ho, down with the hatches ! The seas come aboard! 
All together they come, like a passionate word, 
Like pirates that put eveiy soul to the sword ! 

Their black flag all abroad makes murky the air, 
But the ship pai-ts the night as a maiden her hair — 
Through and through the thick gloom, from land here 

to land there, 
Like the shuttle that weaves for a mourner to wear ! 



Good night, proud "Atlantic!" One tick of the 

. clock, 
And a staggering craunch and a shivering shock — 
'Tis the flint and the steel! 'Tis the ship and the 
rock! 

Deathless sparks are struck out from the bosoms of 

girls, 
From the stout heart of manhood, in scintillant whirls,. 
Like the stars of the Flag when the banner unfurls I 

What hundreds went up unto God in their sleep I 
What hundreds in agony baffled the deep — 
Nobody to pray and nobody to weep ! 

Alas for the flag of the single " White Star," 
With light pale and cold as the woman's hands are 
Who, froze in the shrouds, flashed her jewels afar, 
Lost her hold on the world, and then clutched at a 
spar! 

God of mercy and grace ! How the bubbles come up 
With souls from the revel, who stayed not to sup; 
Death drank the last toast, and then shattered the 
cup! 

Benjamin F. Taylor. 



THE WIND IJST A FROLIC. 



|||||hE Wind one morning sprang up from sleep, 
stSSk Saying, " Now for a frolic ! now for a leap ! 
X Now for a mad-cap galloping chase ! 

* I'll make a commotion in every place! " 
\ So it swept with a bustle right through a great 
I town, 

Creaking the signs, and scattering down 
Abutters ; and whisking, with merciless squalls, 
Old women's bonnets and gingerbread stalls : 
There never was heard a much lustier shout, 
As The ^ppTeTaTTd" oranges fumblecTabout ; 
And the urchins, that stand with their thievish eyes 
Forever on watch, ran off each with a prize. 

Then away to the field it went blustering and hum- 
ming, 
And the cattle all wondered whatever was coming; 
It plucked by the tails the grave matronly cows, 
And tossed the colts' manes all over their brows, 
'Till, offended at such a familiar salute, 
They all turned their backs and stood sulkily mute. 

So on it went, capering, and playing its pranks, 
Whistling with reeds on the broad river's banks, 
Puffing the birds as they sat on the spray, 
Or the traveler grave on the king's highway. 

It was not too nice to hustle the bags 
Of the beggar,- and, flutter his dirty rags : 
'Twasiso bold, that it feared hot to 1 ' play its joke 
With the doctor's wig or the gentleman's cloak. 



Through the forest it roared, and cried, gayly, " Now,. 
You sturdy old oaks, I'll make you bow! " 
And it made them bow without more ado, 
Or cracked their great branches through and through. 
Then it rushed, like a monster, on cottage and farm,. 
Striking their dwellers with sudden alarm, 
So they ran out Tike bees when threatened with harm. 
There were dames with their kerchiefs tied over their 

caps, 
To see if their poultry were free from mishaps ; 
The tUf keysthey gobbled; the—geese screamed aloud, 
And the hen's crept to roost in a terrified crowd; 
There was rearing of ladders, and logs laying on, 
Where the thatch from the roof threatened soon to be 

gone. 
But the wind had swept on, and met in a lane 
With a school -boy, who panted and struggled in vain : 
For it tossed him, and twirled him, then passed, and 

he stood 
With his hat in a pool, and his shoe in the mud. 
Then away went the wind in its holiday glee ! 
And now it was far on the billowy sea ; 
And the lordly ships felt its staggering blow-, -• 
And the little boats darted to and fro : — 
But lo ! night came, and it sank to rest 
Oh the sea-bird's rock in the gleaming west, 
Laughing to think, in its fearful fun, 
How little of mischief it had done ! 

William Howitt. 



DESI KII'TIOX AND NARRATION. 



257 




258 



THE EOYAL GALLERY. 



IN THE MAIKE WOODS. 



I.— THE FORESTS. 



HAT is most striking in the Maine wilderness is the continuousness of the 
forest, with fewer open intervals, or glades, than you had imagined. 
Except the few burnt lands, the narrow intervals on the rivers, the bare 
tops of the high mountains, and the lakes and streams, the forest is 




uninterrupted. It is even more grim and wild 
than you had anticipated — a damp and intricate 
wilderness, in the spring everywhere wet and miry. 
The aspect of the country, indeed, is universally 
stern and savage, excepting the distant views of 
the forest from hills, and the lake-prospects, which are mild and civilizing in a degree. 



DESCRIPTION AMi NARRATION. 



259 




A MOUNTAIN LAKE. 



The lakes arc something which you arc unprepared tor; they lie up so high, exposed 
to the light, and the forest i> diminished to a hue fringe on then- edge.-, with here and 

there a blue mountain, 
like amethyst jewels 
set around some jewel 

of the first water — so 
anterior, so superior to 

all the changes that are 
to take place on theU 

shores, even now civil 
and refined, and fail as 
the} can ever he. These 
are not the artificial forests of an English king— a royal preserve merely. Here prevail 
no forest-laws hut those of Nature. The aborigines have never been dispossessed, «or 
Nature disforested. It i- 
a country full of ever- 
green tree-, of mossy -il- 
ver- birches and watery 
maples — the ground dot- 
ted with insipid, small, red 
berries, and strewn with 
damp and moss- grown 
rocks; a country diversi- 
fied with innumerable lakes 
and rapid streams, peopled 
with trout, with salmon, 
shad, and pickerel, and 
other fishes. The forest 
resounds at rare intervals 

with the note of the chick- 
adee, the blue-jay, and the 
woodpecker, the scream of 
fish-hawk and the eagle, 
the laugh of the loon, and 
the whistle of ducks along 
the solitary stream-: a! 
night, with the hooting of 
owls and the howling 
of wolves ; in summer, 
swarming with myriads of 
black Hies and mosqui- 
toes, more formidable than 
wolves to the white man. 

Such is the home of the 
moose, the bear, the caribou, the wolf, the beaver, and the Indian. Who shall describe the 
inexpressible tenderness anc? immortal life of the grim forest, where Nature, though it be 




260 THE EOYAL GALLEEY. 

midwinter, is ever in her spring ; where the moss-grown and decaying trees are not old, bat 
seem to enjoy a perpetual youth; and blissful, innocent Nature, like a serene infant, is too 
happy to make a noise, except by a few tinkling, lisping birds, and trickling rills. 

II.— SHOOTESTG EAPIDS. 

We reached the dam at noon. The boatmen went through one of the log sluices in 
the bateau, where the fall was ten feet at the bottom, and took us in below. Here was the 
longest rapid in our voyage, and perhaps the running this was as dangerous and arduous 'a 
task as any. In shooting rapids the boatman has this problem to solve : to choose a 
circuitous and safe course amid a thousand sunken rocks, scattered over a long distance, at 
the same time that he is moving steadily on at the rate of fifteen miles an hour. Stop he 
can not: the only question is, Where will he go? The bow-man chooses the course with all 
his eyes about him, striking broad off with his paddle, and drawing the boat by main force 
into her course. The stern-man faithfully follows the bow. Down the rapids we shot at 
a headlong rate. If we struck a rock, we were split from end to end in an instant. Now 
like a bait bobbing for some river monster amid the eddies, now darting to this side of the 
stream, now to that, gliding swift and smooth near to our destruction, or striking broad off 
with the paddle and drawing the boat to right or left with all our might in order to avoid a 
rock, we soon ran through the mile, and floated in Quakish Lake. 

After such a voyage, the troubled and angry waters, which once had seemed terrible 
and not be trifled with, appeared tamed and subdued ; they had been bearded and worried 
in their channels, pricked and whipped into submission with the spike-pole and paddle, and 
all their spirit and their danger taken out of them ; and the most swollen and impetuous 
rivers seemed but playthings henceforth. I began at length to understand the boatmen's 
familiarity with and contempt for the rapids. "Those Fowler boys," said Mrs. M., " are 
perfect ducks for the water." They had run down to Lincoln, according to her, thirty or 
forty miles, in a bateau, in the night, for a doctor, when it was so dark that they could not 
see a rod before them, and the river was swollen so as to be almost "a continuous rapid, so 
that the doctor cried, when they brought him up by daylight, " Why, Tom, how did you 
see to steer?" "We didn't steer much — only kept her straight." And yet they met 
with no accident. 

Henry D. Thoreau. 



A LIFE ON" THE OCEAN WAYE. 

LIFE on the ocean wave, We shoot through the sparkling loam, 

A home on the rolling deep ; Like an oceah-bird set free, — 

Where the scattered waters rave, Like the ocean-bird, our home 

And the winds their revels keep ! We'll And far out on the sea. 



Like an eagle caged I pine 

On this dull, unchanging shore : 

Oh, give me the flashing brine, 
The spray and the tempest's roar 



The land is no longer in view, 

The clouds have begun to frown ; 
But with a stouf vessel and crew, 
We'll say, Let the- storm come down! 

Once more on the decM -stand - — ' ~~ A-mHhtrssbng of our hearty shall be, ' 

Of my own swift-glrding-erait::^ ,).»'>. • While the wind and the. waters rave, • 

Set sail! farewell to the land; A home on the rolling sea! 

The gale follows fjRr abaft'.' ~- " " . • - -- A life on the ocean wave! 

Epes Sakgent. 



DESCRIPTION ami NARRATION. 



261 



SKIPPER IRESON'S RIDE. 



all the rides >\nro the birth of Time, 
Told in story or sung in rhyme, — 
On A|. ul. -in-' Golden Asa, 
Or one-eyed < Calender's horse oJ brass, 
u iteh astride ol a human hack, 
[slam's prophet on Al-Borak, — 
The strangest ride that ever was sped 
\\ r as Lreson's, oul from Marblehead! 
Old Floyd [reson, for lii- hard heart, 
Tarred and feathered and i an ied in a cart. 
Bj the women ol Marblehead! 

Body of turkey, head ol om I, 

Wing a-droop like- a raini d-on fowl, 

Feathered and ruffled in everj part, 

Skipper [reson si iod in the <:irt . 

Scon-, Mt u n. old and \ v:. 

Strong of muscle and glib ol tongue, 

Pushed and pulled up « 1 1 -• - rocky lane, 

Shouting and singing the -luill refrain: 
•• Bere's I lud Oirson, fur hi- borrd horn, 
Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt 
Bj the women o' Morble'eadl " 

Wrinkled Bcolds with hands on hips, 

Girls in bloom of cheek and lips, 

Wild-eyed, free-limbed, Buch as chase 

Bacchus round some antique rase; 

Briel of -kin. with ankles bare, 

Loose of kerchief and Loose of hair. 

With conch-shells blow ing and fish-horns' twang, 

Over and over the Msenada sang: 
•• Sere's Flud Oirson, fur hi- borrd horn, 
Torr'd an' futherr'd an 1 corr'd in a oorrt 
By the women o' Morble'eadl " 

Small pity for bim! Be sailed away 
From a leaking ship in < lhaleur Bay,— 
Sailed away from a sinking wreck, 
With his own towns-people on her deck I 
"Laybyl layby! thej called to him; 
Back lie answered, " Sink or swim 1 
Brag of your catch of ii-h again! " 
And off he sailed through the fog and rain! 
Old Floyd [reson, for his hard heart, 
Tarred and feathered and .allied in a cart 

By the women of Marblehead! 

Fathoms deep in dark ( haleur 
That wreck shall lie forevermore. 
Mother and sister, w ile and maid. 

Looked from the rocks of Marblehead 

Over the moaning and rainy sea.— 

Looked for the coming that might uot be! 



What did the winds and Bea-birds -ay 
Of the cruel captain who Bailed away? — 
old I loj d [reson, for hi- hard heart, 

Tarred and leathered and .allied in a cart 

By the women of Marblehead 1 
Through the Btreet, ..fi either side, 

Up Hew w in. low -. door- ,\\ i mu « j,l,. ; 

Sharp-tongued spinsters, old wives gray, 

Treble lent the fish-horn's braj . 

Sea-worn grandsires, cripple-bound, 

Hulk- ol old sailors run aground, 

Shook head and ii-i and bat and ■ 

And cracked with curses the hoarse refrain!: 
" ll.-r.'- I In. I oir-. .11. mi- bis borrd horrtj, 
Toird an' futherr'd an" corr'd in a corrt 
B; Lie women ••' Morbl s'ead! " 

Sweetly along lie- Salem road 

I'd i "i orchard and lilac showed. 

Little the w icked skipper knew 

of tie- fields -.. green and the -k\ -.. bine. 

Riding there in hi- -..in trim. 

Like an Indian id.. I. glum and grim, 

.-. ircelj be seemed the Bound to hear 

01 voices shouting far and near: 
" B< re's i in. I ( iir-. .11. fur hi- borrd borrt, 
ToirM an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt 
By tie- women ..' Morble'eadl " 

"Ileanne, neighbors!" at last he cried, -!- 

'•What to me i- this noisy rid./ 

What i- the -ham.- that .loth.- the -kin 

To the nam. 1.-- horror that lives w ithin? 

Waking^br sleeping, 1 a wreck, 

And hear a crj from a reeling deck] 

Hate me and curse me. I onlj dread 

The hand ..i i.... I and the face ..i the dead! " 

Said "Id FI03 d [reson, for hi- hard heart 

Tarred and feathered and carried in a .art 
By ih.- women -i Marbli b 

Then tie- wit.- ..f the skipper lost at sea 
Said. ••<;...! ha- touched him. — why should we?" 
Said an old wife, mourning her only sou,. 
'■ Cut the- rogue's tether and let him nm! " 
So with -..it reientings and rude excuse, 
Half scorn, half pity, they cut him loose, 
And gave him a cloak t.. hide him in. 
And left him alone with hi- shame and sin. 
Poor Floyd [reson, for hi- hard heart, ( 

Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart 
By the women of Marblehead! 

J OHN GllEEXLEAF WhitTIEE. 



THE ROYAL GALLEEY. 




" Upon a rustic bridge 

We pass a gulf in which the willows dip 
Their pendant boughs." 

THE RUSTIC BRIDGE. 



CSCENDESTG now (but cautions, lest too fast) 
A sudden steep, upon a rustic bridge 
We pass a gulf in whicb the willows dip 
Their pendant boughs, stooping as if to drink: 
Hence, ankle-deep in moss and flowery thyme, 
"We mount again, and feel at every step 



Our foot half sunk in hillocks green and soft, 
Raised by the mole, the miner of the soil. 
He, not unlike the great ones of mankind, 
Disfigures earth, and plotting in the dark, 
Toils much to earn a monumental pile 
That may record the mischiefs he has done. 
William C<r 



DES( RIPTION AND NARRATION. 



263 




NOON IN MIDSUMMER. 



summer floats on even wing, 
Nor sails more far, nor draws more near; 
Poised calm between the budding spring 
And sweet decadence of the year. 



In shadowed fields the cattle stand. 

The dreaming river scarcely flows, 
The sky hangs cloudless o'er the land, 

And nothing comes and nothing goes. 



264 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



A pause of fullness set between 

The sowing and the reaping time ; 

What is to be and what has been 
Joined each to each in perfect rhyme. 

So comes high noon 'twixt morn and eve, 
So comes fu tide 'twixt ebb and flow, 

Or midnight 'twixt the day we leave 
And that new day to which we go. 



Full, fruitful hours by growing won, 
A restful space 'mid old and new; 

When all there was to do is done, 
And nothing yet' there is to do. 

No days like these so deeply blest, 
That look nor backward nor before ; 

Their large fulfillment, ample rest, 

Make life flow wider evermore. 
Louisa Bushnell. 




' How silent are the winds ! No billow roars ; 
But all is tranquil as Elysian shores!" 



THE SEA IN CALM. 



|OOK what immortal floods the sunset pours 
Upon us. — Mark ! how still (as though in dreams 
Bound) the once wild and terrible ocean seems ; 
How silent are the winds ! No billow roars : 
But all is tranquil as Elysian shores ! 
The silver margin which aye runneth round 
The moon-enchanted sea hath here no sound; 
Even Echo speaks not on these radiant moors! 



What ! is the giant of the ocean dead, 

Whose strength was all unmatched beneath the sun? 

No ; he reposes ! Now his toils are done, 

More quiet than the babbling brooks is he. 

So mightiest powers by deepest calms are fed, 

And sleep, how oft, in things that gentlest be! 

Bryan Waller Proctor. 
(Barry Cornwall!) 
■<■$»<>" ■ 



"And he buried 1: 
day." — deut. xxxiv. 6. 



BURIAL OF MOSES. . - 

. a valley in the land of Moab, over against Beth-peor; but no man knoweth of his sepulchre unto this 



pY Nebo's lonely mountain, 
t On this side Jordan's wave, 

In a vale in the land of Moab, 

There lies a lonely grave; 

But no man built that sepulchre. 

And no man saw it e'er; 

For the angels of God upturned the sod, 

And laid the dead man. the re. •:> ■' 

That was the grandest funeral """ 
That ever passed on earth ; 
Yet no man heard the trampling, 
Or saw the train go forth : 



Noiselessly as the daylight 

Comes when the night is done, 

And the crimson streak on ocean's cheek 

Grows into the great sun ; 

Noiselessly as the spring-time 

Her crown of verdure weaves, 

And all the trees on all the hills 

Unfold their thousand leaves : 

So without sound of music 

Or voice of them that wept, 

Silently down from the mountain's crown 

The great procession swept. 



DESCRIPTION AND N AERATION. 



265 



perchance the bald old eagle 

On pray Beth-peor'e height, 

Cmt of lii ~ rockj eyrie 

Looked on the wondrous sight; 

Perchance the lion stalking 

Still shuns that hallowed spot; 

For beast and bird have seen and heard 

That which man knoweth not 




And give ili«' bard an honored place, 

Willi costly marbles drest, 

In the great minBter transept 

Where lights like glories lull. 

And the sweet choir -ings.aud the organ rings 

Along the emblazoned hall. 

This was the bravest warrior 

That ever buckled sword; 

This the most gifted p<»-t 

That ever breathed a word ; 

And never earth's philosopher 

Traced a ith iii- golden I"' 11 

On the deathless page truths half bo -age 

A> in- w rote down for nun. 



" Perchance the bald <>M eagle 
th -peer's height, 

Oul if his roi i 

Looked on the wondrous sight. 1 



Tint when the warrior dieth 

His comrades of the war. 

With arms reversed and muffled drums. 

Follow the funeral caf« 

They Bhow the banners taken; 

They tell hi< battles won: 

And after him lead hi~ masteriess steed, 

"While peals the minute-gun. 

Amid the noblest of the land 
lieu lay the sage to rest, 



1, 

V.; 

And had be not high honor?— 
The hillside for a pall! 
To lie in state while angels wait 
With stars for tapers tall! 

And the dark r< ick-pines, like tossing plumes, 
Over his bier to wave. 
And God '- om 11 hand, in that lonely land, 
To lay him iu his grave! — 



266 



THE EOYAL GALLEEY. 



In that strange grave without a name, 

"Whence his uncoftined clay 

Shall hreak again — O wondrous thought !- 

Before the judgment-day, 

And staud, with glory wrapped around, 

On the hills he never trod, 

And speak of the strife that won our life 

With the incarnate Son of God. 



O lonely tomb in Moab's land! 

O dark Beth-peor's hill! 

Speak to these curious hearts of ours, 

And teach them to be still; 

God hath his mysteries of grace, 

Ways that we cannot tell, 

He hides them deep, like the secret sleep 

Of him he loved so well. 

Cecil Frances Alexander. 



MONEY MUSK. 



H^H, the buxom girls that helped the boys— 
^^1 The nobler Helens of humbler Troys — 
X W* As they stripped the husks with rustling fold 
A From eight-rowed corn as yellow as gold. 

By the candle-light in pumpkin bowls, 
And the gleams that showed fantastic holes 
In the quaint old lantern's tattooed tin, 
From the hermit glim set up within ; 

By the rarer light in girlish eyes 
As dark as wells, or as blue as skies, 
I hear the laugh when the ear is red, 
I see the blush with the forfeit paid. 

The cedar cakes with the ancient twist, 
The cider cup that the girls have kissed. 
And I see the fiddler through the dusk 
As he twangs the ghost of "Money Musk! " 

The boys and girls in a double row 
Wait face to face till the magic bow 
Shall whip the tune from the violin, 
And the merry pulse of the feet begin. 

In shirt of check, and tallowed hair, 
The fiddler sits in the bulrush chair 
Like Moses' basket stranded there 

On the brink of Father Nile. 
He feels the fiddle's slender neck, 
Picks out the notes with thrum and check, 
And times the tune with nod and beck, 

And thinks it a weary while. 
All ready ! Now he gives the call, 
Cries, "Honor to the ladies! " All 
The jolly tides of laughter fall 

And ebb in a happy smile. 

D-o-w-n comes the bow on every string, 
"First couple join right hands and swing! " 
As ligut as any blue-bird's wing 

"Swing once and a half times round." 



Whirls Mary Martin all in blue — 
Calico gown and stockings new, 
And tinted eyes that tell you true, 

Dance all to the dancing sound. 

She flits about big Moses Brown, 
Who holds her hands to keep her down 
And thinks her hair a golden crown 

And his heart turns over once ! 
His cheek with Mary's breath is wet, 
It gives a second somerset! 
He means to win the maiden yet, 

Alas for the awkward dunce ! 

" Your stoga boot has crushed my foe I" 
" I'd rather dance with one-legged Joe! " 
"You clumsy fellow! " "Pass below! " 

And the first pair dance apart. 
Then " Forward six! " advance, retreat, 
Like midges gay in sunbeam street; 
'Tis Money Musk by merry feet 

And the Money Musk by heart! 

" Three-quarters round your partner swing! " 
"Across the set! " The rafters ring, 
The girls and boys have taken wing 

And have brought their roses out! 
'Tis "Forward six! " with rustic grace, 
Ah, rarer far than — " Swing to place! " — 
Than golden clouds of old point lace 

They bring the dance about. 

Then clasping hands all — "Bight and left! " 
All swiftly weave the measure deft 
Across the woof in loving weft 

And the Money Musk is done ! 
Oh, dancers of the rustling husk, 
Good-night, sweethearts, 'tis growing dusk, 
Good-night, for aye to Money Musk, 

For the heavy march begun! 

Benjamin F. Taylo»- 



DES< RIPTION AND NARRATION. 



267 



THE OLD VILLAGE CHOIR. 



HAVE fancied, sometimes, the Bethel-bent beam, 
That trembled toeartb in tin- patriarch's dream, 
Was a ladder of song In that wilderness rest, 
Prom the pillow oi stone to the blue ol the blest, 

And ill.- angels descending to dwell with u~ 
her,-. 

"Old Hundred," and "Corinth."* and "China," 
and "Mear." 



"Lei a- sing t" <.<>d'- praise," the minister said. 

All the p-alm-books at once fluttered open at "York;" 

Mimed their Long dotted wings in the words that ho 

read. 
While the leader leaped into the tune just ahead, 
And politel] picked up the key-note with a fork; 
And tie- vicious old \i-d went growling along 
Ai the heels oi the girls, in the rear ol the song. 






h\\) 




"While the leader leaped into the tune just ahead. 
And politely picked up the key-note with a fork." 



All the hearts are not dead, not under the sod, 

That those breaths can blow open to heaven and 

God! 
Ah, "Silver Street" flows by a bright shining road,— 
Ob, not to the hymns that in harmony flowed, — 
But the sweet human psalms of the old-fashioned 

choir, 
To the girl that sang alto — the girl that sang air ! 



Oh. I need not a wing— bid no genii come 

With a wonderful web from Arabian loom, 

To bear me again up the river of Time, 

AVhen the world was in rhythm, and life was its 

rhyme — 
"Where the streams of the years flowed so noiseless 

and narrow, 
That across it there floated the song of the sparrow— 



268 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



For a sprig of green caraway carries me there, 
To the old village church, and the old village choir, 
Where clear of the floor my feet slowly swung, 
And timed the sweet pulse of the praise that they 

sung, 
Till the glory aslant from the afternoon sun 
Seemed the rafters of gold in God's temple hegun! 

You may smile at the nasals of old Deacon Brown, 
Who followed by scent, till he ran the tune down ; 



And dear Sister Green, with more goodness than 

grace, 
Rose and fell on the tunes as she stood in her place, 
And where " Coronation" exultingly flows, 
Tried to reach the high notes on the tips of her toes! 

To the land of the leal they have gone with their song, 
Where the choir and the chorus together belong. 
Oh be lifted, ye gates ! Let me hear them again — 
Blessed song, blessed singers! forever, Amen! 

Benjamin F. Taylor. 




THE OLD HOME. 

SEE it now, the same unchanging spot, 
The swinging gate, the little garden-plot, 
The narrow yard, the rock that made its floor, 
The flat pale house, the knocker-garnished door. 
Oliver Wendell Holmes. 



5 ^-rs~ 



THE POWER OF HABIT. 



KEMEMBEB once riding from Buffalo to the Niagara Falls. I said to a gen- 
tleman, "What river is that, sir?" "That," he said, "is Niagara river." 
"Well, it is a beautiful stream," said I, "bright and fair and glassy; how 
far off are the rapids?" "Only a mile or two," was the reply. '"Is it pos- 
sible that only a mile from us we shall find the water in the turbulence which 
it must show near to the Falls?" "You will find it so, sir." And so I found 
it; and the first sight of Niagara I shall never forget. Now, launch your bark on 
that Niagara river ; it is bright, smooth, beautiful and glassy. There is a ripple at the 
bow; the silver wake you leave behind adds to the enjoyment. 




SAPPHO. 
(By W. Amberg.) 



DESCRIPTION AND NARRATION. 269 

Down the stream you glide, oars, Bails and helm in proper trim, and you set 
out on your pleasure excursion. Suddenly some one cries oul from the bank, 
"Young men, ahoy!" "What is it?" "The rapids are below you.'" " 11a I ha! 
we have heard of the rapids, bul we are not such fools a- to get there. If we 
go too fast, then we shall up with the helm and steer for the shore; we will set the 
mast in the socket, hoist the sail and -peed to the land. Then on, hoy-: don't be 
alarmed — there i- no danger." 

"Young men, ahoy there!" " What is it?" "The rapid- are helow you!" 
"Ha! ha! we will laugh and quaff; all things delight us. What care we for the 
future! No man ever -aw it. Sufficient for the day i- the evil thereof. We will 
enjoy life while we may ; will catch pleasure as it flies. This i- enjoyment ; time 
enough to steer out of danger when we are sailing swiftly with the current." 

"Young men, aho_\ !" "What i- it'.'" " Beware ! Beware! 'The rapid- are 
helow you!" Now you -ee the water foaming all around. See how fast yon pass 
that point! I'p with the helm! Now turn! Pull hard! quick! quick! quick! pull 
for your lives! pull till the blood -tart- from the Qostrils, and the vein- stand like 
whip-cords upon your brows ! Sel the mast in the socket! hoist the -ail ! — ah! ah! 
it is too late! Shrieking, cursing, howling, blaspheming, over they go. 

Thousands L r o over the rapids >-\ t \-y year through the power of habit, crying 
all the while, "When 1 And out thai it i- injuring me 1 will give it up!" 

John B. ( rouoH. 



tin: village blacksmith. 



-NDER :i spreading chestnut-tre 

The \ illage smith] stands; 
The smith, :i mighty man i- he, 

With large ami sinewy hand : 
And the muscles "i hi- brawnj arms 

Are -if. mil; a- iron bands. 

His hair i- crisp and hlaek and long; 

Hi- face i- like the tan: 
His hrow is wel with honest sweat, — 

He earns whate'er he .'an. 

And looks the w hole world in the 
for he owes ii"l an\ man. 

"Week in. week "in. from morn till night, 
Yen can hear his bellow - blow; 

You can hear him swing hi- heavj sledge, 
With measured beat ami -lew, 

lake a sexton ringing the village hell 
When the evening -mi i- low. 

And clr'dren coming heme from school, 

Look in at the open door; 
They love to see the darning forge, 

And 1). ar the bellows rear. 
Ana catch the burning spark- that fly 

Like chaff from the threshing-floor. 



lie goes on Sunday to the church, 

Vel sits among his boj s; 
He hears the parson pray and preach: 

lie hear- his daughter's voice 
Singing in the \ illage choir, 

And ii make- hi- heart rejoice. 

]- to him lik ■ her mother's voice, 
Singing in Paradise! 

]- mu-t think of her once mere. 
How in the grave sh 
And with his hard, rough hand he \ 
A tear out of his 

Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing, 
.id through life he goes; 

me task begin, 
Each evening sees i 
Something attempted, something done, 

Has earned a oight's repose. 

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, 
For the lesson then hast taught ! 

Thus at the llainiug forge of life 
I mi- fortunes must be wrought ; 

Thus on its sounding anvil shaped 
Each burning deed and thought! 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 



270 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



THE DESTRUCTION" OF SENNACHERIB. 



Assyrian came down like the wolf on the 
fold, 

y W- And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and 
J4> gold ; 

And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the 

sea, 
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. 

Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green, 
That host with their banners at sunset were seen; 
Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath 

flown, 
That host on the morrow lay withered and strown. 

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, 
And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed ; 



And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, 
And their hearts but once heaved, and forever grew 
still! 

And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, 
But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride ; 
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, 
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. 

And there lay the rider distorted and pale, 
With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail; 
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, 
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown. 

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, 
And their idols are broke in the temple of Baal; 
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, 
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord I 
Lord Byron. 




THE NEW-ENGLAND SCHOOL. 



[E morning came, I reached the classic hall ; 

A clock-face eyed me, staring from the wall ; 

Beneath its hands a printed line I read : 

Youth is Life's seed-time ; so the clock-face 
said. 
Some took its counsel, as the sequel showed, — 
Sowed — their wild oats, and reaped as' they had 

sowed, 
How all comes back ! the upward slanting floor — 
The masters' thrones that flank the central door — 
The long, outstretching alleys that divide 
The rows of desks that stand on either side — 



The staring boys, a face to every desk, 

Bright, dull, pale, blooming, common, picturesque. 

Grave is the master's look ; his forehead wears 

Thick rows of wrinkles, prints of worrying cares; 

Uneasy lie the heads of all that rule, 

His most of all whose kiugdom is a school. 

Supreme he sits; before the awful frown 

That bends his brows the boldest eye goes down: 

Not more submissive Israel heard and saw 

At Sinai's foot the Giver of the Law. 

Oliver Wendell Holmes. 



DESCRIPTION AND XAKKATIOX. 



271 



THE TEMPEST. 
A- 

STaV^K wore crowded in the cabin, 
9HR Not a son] would dare to sleep, — 

fevS-? It was midnight "M iln- uaii-r- 
T And a storm was on the deep. 



"T is a fearful thing in winter 
To be shattered by the blast, 

And to hear the rattling trumpet 
Thunder, ■■< lul awaj the masl ! " 

So we shuddered there In silence, — 

For the stoutest lirld hi- hn-ath, 

While Hm- huugrj sea was roaring, 
And the breakers talked \\ itb Death. 



As thus we sat in darkness, 

Each "in 1 busy in his prayers, 
'• We are Lost ! " the captain -houted, 

A- In- staj^ereil down tin- stairs. 



T'.ui hi- little daughter whispered, 

A- she took hi- icy hand, 

■• I- n' 1 up. ,n il„- ,,,-,-an 

Just the same as on the land/ " 

Then we kissed the little maiden, 

And we -i„.k,- in better i-heer, 
And we anchored -an- in harbor, 
When the morn was Bhining clear. 

James Thomas FrELus. 




Till: EVENING CLOUD. 



t$L' ( '' ()l '' 1;IV <•'-»' JI« ■« i n, -ar l!n- -,-iiiiiLT -un : 
£#?S A ulrani of rriinsoii tin^rd iii hraided -now ; 
'|p I.oui: had I wat.-lhd lln- ^l,.r\ moving ,,,,, 

J-. O'er the still radia t the lake below. 

Tranquil its spiril seemed, and floated slow — 
Even in its very motion there was rest; 
While every breath ol eve that chanced to blow 
Wafted the traveler to the beauteous west: — 



Emblem, methought, of the departed soul, 
To whose white robe the gleam ol bliss is ^iven; 
And. by the breath ol Mercj . mad,- to roll 
Right onward to the golden gates ol heaven; 
Where, to the eye of faith, it peaceful lies, 

And tells I" in. hi hi- gloriOUS d,--linies. 

.John Wilson. (Christopher North) . 



THE STREAM OE LIFE. 



^ jVIFE boar- us on like the current of a mighty river. Our boat at first glides 

&f^~ down the narrow channel, through the playful murmurings of the little brook 

'jp and the windings of its grassy borders. The trees shed their blossoms over 

.its. our young heads ; the flowers on the brink seem to offer themselves to our young 

j| hands: we are happy in hope, and we grasp eagerly at the beauties around 

1 us; — but the stream hurries on, and still our hands are empty. Our course 



272 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



in youth and manhood is along a wider and deeper flood, amid objects more striking 
and magnificent. We are animated by the moving pictures of enjoyment and industry 
passing before us; we are excited by some short-lived success, or depressed and made 
miserable by some equally short-lived disappointment. But our energy and our depres- 
sion are both in vain. The stream bears us on, and our joys and griefs are alike 
left behind us. 

We may be shipwrecked — we cannot be delayed; whether rough or smooth, the 
river hastens to its home, till the roar of the ocean is in our ears, and the tossing of 
the waves is beneath our feet, and the land lessens from our eyes, and the floods are 
lifted up around us, and we take our leave of earth and its inhabitants, until of our 
further voyage there is no witness save the Infinite and Eternal. 

Reginald Heber, 



LUCY GRAY. 



?T I had heard of Lucy Gray ; 
And when I crossed the wild, 
I chanced to see, at hreak of day, 
The solitary child. 



The wretched parents all that night 
Went shouting far and wide ; 
But there was neither sound nor sight 
To serve them for a guide. 



No mate, no comrade, Lucy knew; 
She dwelt on a wide moor, — 
The sweetest thiug that ever grew 
Beside a human door ! 



At daybreak on the hill they stood 
That overlooked the moor; 
And thence they saw the bridge of wood, 
A furlong from their door. 



You yet may spy the fawn at play, 
The hare upon the green ; 
But the sweet face of Lucy Gray 
Will never more he seen. 



They wept, and, turning homeward, cried, 
" In heaven we all shall meet; " — 
When in the snow the mother spied 
The print of Lucy's feet. 



"To-night will he a stormy night,- 
You to the town must go ; 
And take a lantern, child, to light 
Your mother through the snow.'" 



Then downwards from the steep hill's edg© 
They tracked the footmarks small; 
And through the broken hawthorn hedge, 
And by the long stone wall; 



"That, father! will I gladly do; 

'T is scarcely afternoon,— 

The minster-clock has just struck two, 

And yonder is the moon! " 

At this the father raised his hook, 
And snapped a faggot-band ; 
He plied his work ; — and Lucy took 
The lantern in her hand. 

Not blither is the mountain roe : 
With many a wanton stroke 
Her feet disperse the powdery snow, 
That rises up like smoke. 

The storm came on before its time : 
She wandered up and down ; 
And many a hill did Lucy climb, 
But never reached the town. 



And then an open field they crossed ; 
The marks were still the same ; 
They tracked them on, nor ever lost; 
And to the bridge they came. 

They followed from the snowy bank 
Those footmarks, one by one, 
Into the middle of the plank; 
And further there were none ! 

— Yet some maintain that to this day 
She is a living child ; 
That you may see sweet Lucy Gray 
Upon the lonesome wild. 

O'er rough and smooth she trips along, 
And never looks behind ; 
And sings a solitary song 
That whistles in the wind. 

William Wordsworth, 



DESI RIPTION AND NAIUIA'I [ON. 



21o 



THE SNOW-STORM. 



'is a fearful night in the winter-time, 
I A- cold as ii ever can !»•: 
The roar ol the blast is beai-d like the chime 
Of tlic waves oh an angn 




*fc 



,% 



The windows blocked, and the well- 

curb-. . 

Tin' hum. ii i- lull, inn her silver light 
Tin- storm dashes "in with ii- wings to-night : 
And over the -k\ . from south t" north, 
Not a star i- seen, a- the wind comes forth 
In the atrength "i a might] gl< e. 

All 'lay had tin- -now come dow n — all daj . 

A- it never came dow n before, 
Ami over the hills al sunset lay 

gome two or three feet or more : 
The fence was lost, ami the wall of stone; 
The windows blocked, ami the well-curbs gone; 
The hay-stack had grown t" a mountain-lift; 
And ili'- wood-pile looked like a monster drift. 

As ii laj by the farmer's door. 

Tin' nighl -'i- in "ii a w orld ol snow, 
While the air grows sharp ami 'hill. 

Ami the warning roar "t a fearful blow 
I- heard on the distanl hill : 

And the Norther! See, on the mountain-peak, 

In hi- breath how the "Id trees writhe ami shriek! 

He shouts "ii ih" plain. Qo-ho! ho-ho! 

lie drives from hi- nostrils the blinding snow. 
And growls with a savage will. 



Buoh a night a- this to '"■ found abroad 

In the drifts and ih" freezing air! 
s'n- a shivering dog in a field bj the road, 

With Ih" SHOW in his Shaggj hair: 

11" shut - hi- "\ .■- i" ih" w iml. and grow Is: 
ih- l in- hi- head, ami moans and howls; 
Then, crouching low from the cutting sleet, 
Hi- ii' -• i- pressed on hi- quivering n-'-i ; 
Pray, what does the dog do there? 

A farmer came from the Tillage plain. 

But he l"-i ih" traveled way ; 
And for hours he trod « ith might ami main 

A path for hi- horse ami sleigh ; 
But colder -till the ""id winds blew, 
And deeper -lill the deep drifts grew; 
And hi- mare, a beautiful Morgan brown, 
Ai last in her struggles floundered down, 

u here a log in a hollow laj . 

In vain, with a neigh ami a frenzied snort, 

She plunged In ili" drifting snow, 
\\ bile her master urged, till hi- breath grew Bhort, 

\\ Ith a word ami a gentle blow : 
Bui ih" -now wa- deep, ami iii" tugs were tight; 
His hand- were numb, and had |..-i their might ; 




"The man in his sleigh, anil his faithful dog, 
And the beautiful Morgan brown." 

So he wallowed back to his half-rilled sleigh, 
And strove to shidier himself till day. 
Wiih his coat and the buffalo. 



274 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



He has given the last faint jerk of the rein, 

To rouse up his dying steed; 
And the poor dog howls to the hlast in vain 

For help in his master's need ; 
For awhile he strives with a wistful cry, 
To catch a glance from his drowsy eye, 
And wags his tail if the rude winds flap 
The skirt of the buffalo over his lap, 

And whines when he takes no heed. 

The wind goes down and the storm is o'er, — 
'Tis the hour of midnight, past; 

The old trees writhe and bend no more 
In the whirl of the rushing blast ; 

The silent moon, with her peaceful light, 

Looks down on the hills with snow all white ; 



And the giant shadow of Camel's Hump, 
Of the blasted pine and the ghostly stump, 
Afar on the plain are cast. 

But," cold and dead, by the hidden log 

Are they who came from the town, — 
The man in his sleigh, and his faithful dog, 

And his beautiful Morgan brown, — 
In the wide snow desert, far and grand, 
With his cap on his head, and the reins in his hand : 
The dog with his nose on his master's feet, 
And the mare half seen through the crusted sleet, 
Where she lay when she floundered down. 

Charles Gamage Eastman. 



CASABIANCA. 



[Young Casabianca, a boy about thirteen years old, son of the Admiral of the Orient, remaine 
the Nile) after the ship had taken fire and all the guns had been abandoned, and perished 
when the flames had reached the powder.] 



at his post (in the Battle of 
1 the explosion of the vessel. 



HE boy stood on the burning deck, 
Whence all but him had fled. 

The flame that lit the battle's wreck 
Shone round him o'er the dead. 

Yet beautiful and bright he stood, 

As born to rule the storm ; 
A creature of heroic blood, 

A proud though childlike form. 

The flames rolled on ; he would not go 

Without his father's word ; 
The father, faint in death below, 

His voice no longer heard. 

He called aloud, " Say, father, say, 

If yet my task be done ! " 
He knew not that the chieftain lay 

Unconscious of his son. 

" Speak, father! " once again he cried, 

"If I may yet be gone! " 
And but the booming shots replied, 

And fast the flames rolled on. 



Upon his brow he felt their breath, 

And in his waving hair, 
And looked from that lone post of death 

In still yet brave despair ; 

And shouted but once more aloud, 

" My father! must I stay? " 
While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud, 

The wreathing fires made way. 

They wrapt the ship in splendor wild, 

They caught the flag on high, 
And streamed above the gallant child, 

Like banners in the sky. 

There came a burst of thunder sound ; 

The boy, — Oh ! where was he ? 
Ask of the winds, that far around 

With fragments strewed the sea, — 

With shroud and mast and pennon fair, 
That well had borne their part, — 

But the noblest thing that perished there 
Was that young, faithful heart. 

Felicia Dorothea IIemans. 



THE OLD CANOE. 




CRE the rocks are gray and the shore is steep, 
And the waters below look dark and deep, 
Where the rugged pine, in its lonely pride, 
Leans gloomily over the murky tide, 

Where the reeds and rushes are long and rank, 

And the weeds grow thick on the winding bank ; 

Where the shadow is heavy the whole day through, 

Lies at its moorings the old canoe. 



The useless paddles are idly dropped, 

Like a sea-bird's wing that the storm has lopped, 

ADd crossed on the railing, one o'er one, 

Like the folded hands when the work is done ; 

While busily back and forth between 

The spider stretches his silvery screen, 

And the solemn owl, with his dull " too-hoo," 

Settles down on the side of the old canoe. 



DESCRIPTION AND NARRATION. 



275 



The stern, half sunk In the slimy wave 

Rota slowly away in its Living grave, 

And tin- green moss creeps o'er it- dull decaj . 

Hiding the mouldering dual awaj . 

Like tlic hand that plants o'er the tomb a flower, 

Or the ivy that mantles the (ailing tower; 

While manj a blossom of Loveliest hue 

Springs up o'er the stern of the old canoe. 

The currentle8s waters are dead and Mill- 
But the Light wind plays with the boat at will. 
And Lazily in and out again 
It floats the length ol its rust] chain, 
Like the wear] march of the bands of time, 
That meet and part at the noontide chime, 
Ami the shore i- kissed at each turn anew 
By the dripping i>"\\ ol the old canoe. 

Oh, many a time, with a careless hand, 

I have pushed it away from the pcbblj strand, 



And paddled it down where th<' stream runs quick, 
Where the « hirls are wild and the eddies are thick, 
And laughed as 1 Leaned o'er the rocking side, 
And looked below in the broken tide-. 
To see that the faces and boats were two 
That were mirrored back from the < >1<1 canoe. 

But uow, as 1 lean o'er the crumbling side, 
And Look below in the sluggish tide, 



The face that 1 see there is 



graver grown, 



And the Laugh that 1 hear has a soberer tone, 

And the hand- that lent to the Light skiff wings 

Have grown familiar with sterner things. 

But I Love to think of the hours ti v t flew 

A- 1 rocked where the whirls their white sprat threw. 

Ere the blossom waved, or the green grass grew, 

O'er the mouldering stern ol the old canoe. 

h.MlLi 11. l'AUL. 




A GREYPORT LEGEND. 



KHirs ran through the streets of the seaport town: 
■S They peered from the decks of the ships that lay: 
p The cold sea-fog thai came whitening down 
Was never as cold or white as they. 
"Ho, StarbuckandPinckneyandTenterden! 
Run for your shallops, gather your men, 
Scatter your boats on the lower hay." 



v 



G 1 cause Cor fear! En the thick midday 

The hulk that lay by the rotting pier, 

Filled with the children in happy play, 

Parted its moorings, and drifted clear, — 

Drifted clear beyond reach or call,— 

Thirteen children they were in all, — 

All adrift in the lower bay! 



276 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



Said a hard-faced skipper, "God help us all! 

She will not float till the turning tide!" 

Said his wife, "My darling will hear my call, 

Whether in sea or heaven she bide." 
And she lifted a quavering voice and high, 
Wild and strange as a sea-bird's cry, 
Till they shuddered and wondered at her side. 

The fog drove down on each laboring crew, 
Veiled each from each and the sky and shore : 
There was not a sound but the breath they drew, 
And the lap of water and creak of oar ; 

And they felt the breath of the downs, fresh blown 
O'er leagues of clover and cold gray stone, 
But not from the lips that had gone before. 



They come no more. But they tell the tale, 

That, when fogs are thick on the harbor reef, 

The mackerel fishers shorten sail ; 

For the signal they know will bring relief : 
For the voices of children, still at play 
In a phantom hulk that drifts alway 
Through channels whose waters never fail. 

It is but a foolish shipman's tale, 

A theme for a poet's idle page ; 

But still, when the mists of doubt prevail, 

And we lie becalmed by the shores of Age, 

We hear from the misty troubled shore 

The voice of the children gone before, 

Drawing the soul to its anchorage. 

Bret Harte. 



THE GRAPE-VINE SWING. 



JlTHE and long as the serpent train, 

Springing and clinging from tree to tree, 
Now darting upward, now down again, 
With a twist and a twirl that are strange to 
see; 
Never took serpent a deadlier hold, 
Never the cougar a wilder spring, 
Strangling the oak with the boa's fold, 
Spanning the beech with the condor's wing. 

Yet no foe that we fear to seek, — 
The boy leaps wild to thy rude embrace ; 

Thy bulging arms bear as soft a cheek 
As ever on lover's breast found place ; 



On th3 r waving train is a pla3 r ful hold 
Thou shalt never to lighter grasp persuade ; 

"While a maiden sits in thy drooping fold, 
And swings and sings in the noonday shade I 

giant strange of our Southern woods! 

I dream of thee still in the well-known spot, 
Though our vessel strains o'er the ocean floods, 
And the Northern forest beholds thee not; 

1 think of thee still with a sweet regret. 

As the cordage yields to my playful grasp, — 

Dost thou spring and cling in our woodlands yet? 

Does the maiden still swing in thy giant clasp? 

• William Gilmore Simms. ■ 



MOONLIGHT ON THE PRAIRIE. 



'AUTIFUL was the night. Behind the black 

fAJ> wall of the forest, 

■tSt 9 Tipping its summit with silver, arose the moon. 
jf On the river 

Fell here and there through the branches a 
tremulous gleam of the moonlight, 

Like the sweet thoughts of love on a darkened and 
devious spirit. 

Nearer and round about her, the manifold flowers of 
the garden 

Poured out their souls in odors, that were their pray- 
ers and confessions 

Unto the night, as it went its way, like a silent Car- 
thusian. 

Fuller of fragrance than they, and as heavy with 
shadows and night-dews, 

Hung the heart of the maiden. The calm and the 
magical moonlight 

Seemed to inundate her soul with indefinable longings, 



As, through the garden gate, and beneath the shade of 

the oak-trees, 
Passed she along the path to the edge of the measure- 
less prairie. 
Silent it lay, with a silvery haze upon it, and fire-flies 
Gleaming and floating away in mingled and infinite 

numbers. 
Over her head the stars, the thoughts of God in the 

heavens, 
Shone on the eyes of man, who had ceased to marvel 

and worship, 
Save when a blazing comet was seen on the walls of 

that temple, 
As if a hand had appeared and written upon them, 

" Upharsin." 
And the soul of the maiden, between the stars and the 

fire-flies, 
Wandered alone, and she cried, "0 Gabriel! O my 

beloved ! 



DES< RIPTION AND NARRATION 



277 



Art thou bo near unto me, and yel I cannot behold When -hall these eyes behold, these arms be folded 

thee? about thee? " 

An th"u so near onto me, and vel thy voice does not Loud and sudden and near the note of a whippoorw ill 

reach me? sounded 

Ah! how often thy feel have trod this path to the Like a flute In the woods; and anon, through the 

prairie! neighboring thickets, 

Ah! how often thine eyes have Looked on the wood- partner and farther awaj it floated and dropped into 

land- around me! Bilence. 

Aii! bow often beneath this oak, returning from "Patience!" whispered the oaks from oracular cav- 

labor, eras "i dai kness; 

Thou hast lain down to rest, and to dream of me in And, from the mooulii meadow, a >igh responded, 

thy slumbers. " ro-morrow ! " 

III m;i \\ 4D8WOBTH l.oM.i ELLOW. 




' O blithely shines itie honny su 
Upon ihc Isle of May." 



WE 'LL GO TO SEA \< > ATOEE. 



BLITHELY shines the bonny sun 

Upon Hie Me of May. 
Ami blithely comes the morning tide 

into si. Andrew's Bay. 
Then up. gudeman, the breeze i- fair. 

And np, my braw bairns three; 
There's goud in yonder bonny boat 



That sails sae wee! the sea ! 
When haddocks leave the Firth o' Fortn, 

An' mussels leave- the shore. 
When oysters climb up Berwick Law, 
We '|| go !•• sea no more, — 

No i "e, 

We "11 :_<■" to sea no more. 



278 



THE KOYAL GALLEKY. 



I 've seen the waves as blue as air, 

I 've seen them green as grass ; 
But I never feared their heaving yet, 

From Grangemouth to the Bass. 
I 've seen the sea as black as pitch, 

I 've seen it white as snow ; 
But I never feared its foaming yet, 
Though the winds blew high or low. 
When squalls capsize our wooden walls, 

When the French ride at the Nore, 
When Leith meets Aberdour half way, 
We '11 go to sea no more, — 

No more, 
We '11 go to sea no more. 

I never liked the landsman's life, 

The earth is aye the same ; 
Gie me the ocean for my dower, 

My vessel for my hame. 
Gie me the fields that no man plows, 

The farm that pays no fee ; 
Gie me the bonny fish that glance 

So gladly through the sea. 



When sails hang flapping on the masts 
While through the waves we snore, 

When in a calm we 're tempest-tossed, 
We '11 go to sea no more, — 

ISTo more, 
We '11 go to sea no more. 

The sun is up, and round Inchkeith 

The breezes softly blaw ; 
The gudeman has the lines on board, — 

Awa, my bairns, awa ! 
An' ye be back by gloamin' gray, 

An' bright the fire will low, 
An' in your tales and sangs we '11 tell 
How weel the" boat ye row. 

When life's last sun gaes feebly down 

An' death comes to our door, 
When a' the world 's a dream to us. 
We '11 go to sea no more, — 

ISTo more, 
We '11 go to sea no more. 

Miss Corbett, 




THE WRECKED SHIP. 



now, lashed on by destiny severe, 
\ With horror fraught the dreadful scene drew 
near ! 

11 The ship hangs hovering on the verge of death, 
Hell yawns, rocks rise, and breakers roar be- 
neath ! 

In vain the cords and axes are prepared, 
For now the audacious seas insult the yard ; 
High o'er the ship they throw a horrid shade, 
And o'er her burst, in terrible cascade. 
Uplifted on the surge to heaven she flies, 
Her shattered top half buried in the skies, 
Then headlong plunging thunders on the ground , 
Earth groans! air trembles! and the deeps re- 
sound ! 



Her giant hulk the dread concussion feels, 
And quivering with the wound, in torment reels. 
So reels, convulsed with agonizing throes, 
The bleeding bull beneath the murderer's blows- 
Again she plunges ! hark ! a second shock 
Tears her strong bottom on the marble rock ! 
Down on the vale of death, with dismal cries, 
The fated victims shuddering roll their eyes 
In wild despair, while yet another stroke, 
With deep convulsion, rends the solid oak : 
Till, like the mine, in whose infernal cell 
The lurking demons of destruction dwell, 
At length, asunder torn, her frame divides, 
And crashing spreads in ruin o'er the tides. 

William Falconer, 



jAa. 



THE PILOT. 



>HN MAYNARD was well known in the lake district as a God-fearing, honest and 
intelligent pilot. He was pilot on a steamboat from Detroit to Buffalo. One sum- 
mer afternoon — at that time those steamers seldom carried boats — smoke was seen 
ascending from below, and the captain called out, "Simpson, go below and see 
what the matter is down there." Simpson came up with his face pale as ashes, and 
said, " Captain, the ship is on fire." Then " Fire ! fire ! fire J" resounded on shipboard. 
AH hands were called up. Buckets of water were dashed on the fire, but in vain. 
There were large quantities of resin and tar on board, and it was found useless to 
attempt to save the .ship. The passengers rushed forward and inquired of the pilot. 



DESCRIPTION AND NARRATION. 27:1 

"How far are we from Buffalo?" "Seven miles." -How long before we can 
reach there?" "Three-quarters of an hour at our present rate of steam." " Is there 
any danger?" "Danger, here — sec the smoke bursting out — go forward, if you would 
save your lives ! " 

Passengers and crew — men, women and children — crowded the forward pari of 
the ship. John Maynard stood at th< helm. The flames burst forth in a sheel of fire; 
clouds of smoke arose. The captain cried out through hi- trumpet : "John Maynard I " 
"Aye, aye, sir!" "Arc you ;it the helm?" "Aye, aye, sirl" "How does she 
head?" " Southeasl by east, sir." " Head her southeast and run her on shore," said 
the captain. 

Nearer, nearer, yel nearer, she approached the shore. Again the captain cried out: 
"John Maynard!" The response came feebly this time, •• Aye, aye, sirl" "Can 
you hold on ti\e minute- longer, John ? " he said. •• Bj God's help, 1 will." 

The old man's hair was scorched from the scalp, hand disabled, hi- knee upon 

the stanchion, ami hi- teeth Bel : with hi- other hand upon the wheel, he stood firm a- a 
rock. lie beached the -hip: every man, woman and child wa- saved, a- .lohn .Maynard 
dropped, and his spirit took it- flighl t" it- God. 

Jou> B. Gough. 



Till: BURNING OF CniCAGO. 

f FOUND a Rome of common clay," Imperial And dumb Dismay walked hand In hand with fn.,,,,- 

( laesar cried : eyed l lespalr! 

'•I LeftaRome ol marble!" No other Borne < m , v ... vanished in a cloud — the towers were 

besidel m ,,, sleet, 

The ages wrote their autographs along the sculptured i.,,; ni i :i . ,,t a thousand yean along the spectral 
stone — 

Ideneagles flew abroad -Augustan splendors ■,•,„.„,.,„,„„■ l „„. between thedaysl The ashen 

-- 1 '"" 1 '- boar-frosl tell, 

'""'"ic BOmaD "'' "'" W ° rld! T '"' y ' rai1 '" 1 "'" A ' U """" ''"'""" ""' : ' i: "' ""' '"'"'" l - : '"' ; " f '"'"• 

( 10 e, A(|il j e) |h( , ,,,,,!,,.,, biuows break the adamantine 

And Hung the Latin toga around tin- naked globe! , . 

And roll the 9moke oi tor nl up to - ber oul the 

" I found Chicago wood and clay," a mightier Raiser stars! 

gald, The low, dull growl of powder-blasts jusf dot* 

Then flung upon the sleeping marl his royal robes of the din, 

n .,p As if they tolled for perished clocks the time that 

Ami temple, dome, and colonnade, and monument might bavebeen! 

and spire The thunder of the ftery surf roared human accents 

Put on the crimson livery of dreadful Raiser Fire! dumb; 

The stately pile- of polished stone were shattered int.. T1 "' trumpet's clangor died away a « ild u,;--< drowsy 

sand, limn. 

And madly drove the dread simoon, and snowed them And hreakers heal tie- empty world that rumbled like 

on the land! a drum. 

And rained them till the sea was red, and scorched the cities of the Silent Lund! O Graceland and Rosc- 

wings ei' prayer! hill! 

Like thistle-down ten thousand homes went drifting No tombs vrithoul their tenantry? The pale host 

through the air. sleeping -till/ 



280 



THE EOYAL GALLERY. 



Your marble thresholds dawning red with holocaustal And Ruth and Rachel, pale and brave, in silence 

glare, walked beside; 

As if the Waking Angel's foot were set upon the stair! Those Bible girls of Judah's day did make that day 

sublime — 

But ah, the human multitudes that marched before Leave life but them, no other loss can ever bankrupt 

the flame — Time! 

As 'mid the Red Sea's wavy walls the ancient people ' . . •;■ # •■_ 

, Men stood and saw their all caught up in chariots of 

came ! fl 

Behind, the rattling chariots ! the Pharaoh of Fire ! flame— 

The rallying volley of the whips, the jarring of the No mantle falling from the sky they ever thought to 

t j re ; claim, 




: Chicago vanished 



Looked round, and saw the homeless world as dismal And empty-handed as the dead, they turned away and 

as a pyre] — smiled, 

Looked up, and saw God's blessed Blue a firmament And bore a stranger's household gods and saved a 

so dire! stranger's child ! 

As in the days of burning Troy, when Virgil's hero What valor brightened into shape, like statues in a 

fled, hall, 

So o-ray and trembling pilgrims found some younger When on their dusky panoply the blazing torches fall, 

feet instead, Stood bravely out, and saw the world spread wings of 
That bore them through the wilderness with bold fiery flight, 

elastic stride, And not a trinket of a star to crown disastered night! 

Benjamin F. Taylor. 



DES< EUPWOM AM. NAIIKAHHN. 



281 



A \< »irrm;jL\ winter. 



f;iTOLD a scene, magnificent and new; 
Nor land nor water meel i h<- excursive view; 
The round horizon girds <>n>- frozen plain, 
'I'll.- might] tombstone of the buried main, 
* Where, .lark and silent, and unfell to flow, 
A dead sea sleeps with all it- tribes below. 



Nor Bhines be here In solitude anknown; 

North, south, and west, by dogs or reindeer drawn, 

Careering sledges cross the unbroken lawn. 

And bring from baj - and forelands round the coast, 

Youth, beauty, valor, Greenland's proudest boast, 

Who thus, in « inter's long and social reign. 




North, outh, md <m t, - dogs or reinde 
ledges cross the unbroken law 



But heaven is -till itself; (be deep blue sky 
Comes down with smiles to meel the glancing eye, 
Though, if a keener sighl its bound would trace, 
The arch recedes through everlasting space. 

The sun, in morning glory, mounts his throne, 



Bold feasts and tournaments upon the main. 
When, buill of solid floods, his bridge extends 
A highway o'er the gulf to meeting friends, 
\\ bom rocks impassable, or winds and tide, 
Fickle and false, in summer mouths divide. 



282 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



The scene runs round with motion, rings with mirth, 

No happier spot upon the peopled earth; 

The drifted snow to dust the travelers heat, 

The uneven ice is flint heneath their feet. 

Here tents, a gay encampment, rise around, 

Where music, song, and revelry resound; 

There the hlue smoke upwreathes a hundred spires, 

Where humhler groups have lit their pine-wood tires. 



Ere long they quit the tables; knights and dames 
Lead the blithe multitude to boisterous games. 
Bears, wolves, and lynxes yonder head the chase; 
Here start the harnessed reindeer in the race, 
Borne without wheels, a flight of rival cars 
Track the ice-firmament, like shooting stars. 
Right to the goal, — converging as they run, 
They dwindle through the distance into one. 

James Montgomery. 



THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD. 



)W ponder well, you parents deare, 
These wordes which I shall write; 
'^ff^ A doleful story you shall heare, 
J4 In time brought forth to light. 
A gentleman of good account, 

In Norfolke dwelt of late, 
Who did in honor far surmount 
Most men of his estate. 



"You must be father and mother both, 

And uncle all in one ; 
God knowes what will become of them, 

When I am dead and gone." 
With that bespake their mother deare, 

" O brother kinde," quoth shee, 
"You are the man must bring our babes 

To wealth or miserie : 



Sore sicke he was, and like to dye, 

No helpe his life could save ; 
His wife by him as sicke did lye, 

And both possest one grave. 
No love between these two was lost, 

Each was to other kinde ; 
In love they lived, in love' they dyed, 

And left two babes behinde : 



"And if you keep them carefully, 

Then God will you reward ; 
But if you otherwise should deal, 

God will your deedes regard." 
With lippes as cold as any stone, 

They kist their children small : 
"God bless you both, my children deare; 

With that the teares did fall. 



The one a fine and pretty boy, 

Not passing three yeares olde; 
The other a girl more young than he, 

And framed in beautye's molde. 
The father left his little son, 

As plainlye doth appeare, 
When he to perfect age should come, 

Three hundred poundes a yeare. 

And to his little daughter Jane 

Five hundred poundes in gold, 
To be paid downe on marriage-day, 

Which might not be controlled : 
But if the children chance to dye, 

Ere they to age should come, 
Their uncle should possesse their wealth; 

For so the wille did run. 



These speeches then their brother spake 

To this sicke couple there; 
"The keeping of your little ones, 

Sweet sister, do not feare. 
God never prosper me nor mine, 

Nor aught else that I have, 
If I do wrong your children deare, 

When you are layd in grave." 

The parents being dead and gone, 

The children home he takes, 
And bringes them straite unto his house, 

Where much of them he makes. 
He had not kept these pretty babes 

A twelvemonth and a daye, 
But, for their wealth, he did devise 

To make them both awaye. 



"Now, brother," said the dying man, 

"Look to my children deare; 
Be good unto my boy and girl, 

No f riendes else have they here : 
To God and you I recommend 

My children deare this daye ; 
But little while be sure we have 

Within this world to staye. 



He bargained with two ruffians strong, 

Which were of furious mjod, 
That they should take these children young 

And slaye them in a wood. 
He told his wife an artful tale : 

He would the children send 
To be brought up in faire London, 

With one that was his friend. 



DES< RJPTION AND NARRATION. 



233 



Away Chen went Chose pretty babes 

Bejoycing at thai tide, 
Bejoycing with a merry minde, 

They should on cock-horse ride. 
They prate and prattle pleasant!] . 

As they rode mi the waye, 
To those that should their butchers be, 

And work iLnir lives' decay e: 

Bo thai ili«- pretty speeche they had, . 

Mad.' Blurder's liearl relenl : 
And they thai nndertooke the d 1, 

Full sore did now repent 
Yet one of them more hard oi heart, 

l>id rowe i" do his charge, 
Because the wretch thai hired him 

Had paid him vn large. 

The other won'1 agree thereto, 

So hen' they fall to strife; 
With one another they did flight, 

Ai i the children's life : 

And he thai w as ol mildest mood 

Did Blaye ii ther there, 

Within an unfrequented w 1; 

The babes did quake for fearel 

He took ili«' children by the band, 

Teares standing in their eye, 
And i.ad them straitwaye follow him, 

And look the] did aol cryo: 
And two long miles be ledd them on, 

While they for food c plaine : 

'•Staye here," quoth he, •• 1 "11 bring you bn ad 

When 1 come hack againe." 

These pretty babes, with hand in hand 

w fnt wandering up and downe; 
But Dever more could Bee the man 

Approaching from the towne: 
Their prettye I i i » i > « - ^ with blackberries 

Were all besmeared and dyed. 

And when they sawe the darksome night. 
They sal them down,, and cryed. 



Thus wandered these poor innocents 

Till deathe did end their grief, 
In one another's armes they died. 

As wanting due relief : 
No burial this prettj pair 

< »f any man receives, 

Till Robin-redbreasl piously 
Did cover them n ith leaves. 

And now the heavy wrathe of God 

I Ipon their uncle fell? 

S arful fiends did haunl his house, 

I I inscience fell an hell ; 

His barnes were fired, his goodes consumed, 

His land.-- were barren made, 
His cattle dj ed n ithin the field, 

And nothing with him Btayd. 

And in the voyage oi Portugal 

Two ol his sonnes did dye; 
And to conclude, himselfe was brought 

To want and miserye : 
He pawned and mortgaged all his land 

En seven ■ irs i ame about, 
And now ai length this wicked act 

Did by this means co ii : 

The fellowe thai did take In hand 

Thi Be children tor to kill. 
Was for a robbery judged to dj e, 

Such was God's blessed n ill : 
\\ ho did confess the very truth, 

As here hath been display ed : 
Their ancle having dyed in gaol, 

Where he for debl was layd. 

Yon thai executors be mad.-. 

And over • ■ 
Of children thai be fatherless, 

And Infante mild and meek; 
Take j sxample by this thing, 

And yield to each his right, 
1 tod with such like miserye 

Your wicked minds requite. 



THE MASSACRE OF FORT DEARBORN. 

[Chicago, iSw.l 



IQRN of the prairie and the wave— the blue sea 

and the irrcen, 
A city of the Occident, Chicago lay between : 
Dim trails upon the meadow, faint wake.-? upon 
the main. 

On cither sea a schooner and a canvas-covered 

wuiu. 



I -aw a dol upon the map. and a house-fly's filmy 
wing— 

They <aid "t wa- Dearborn's picket-ilag when Wilder- 
ness was king: 

] heard the reed-bird's morning song— the Indian's 
awkward flail — 

The rice tattoo in bis rude canoe like a dash of April 
hail— 



28* 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



The beaded grasses' rustling bend— the swash of the The Dead March played for Dearborn's men just 

lazy tide, . marching out of life, 

Where ships shake out the salted sails and navies The swooping of the savage cloud that burst upon 

grandly ride! the rank 

I heard the Block-house gates unbar, the column's And struck it with its thunderbolt in forehead and in 

solemn tread, flank, 

I saw the Tree of a single leaf its splendid foliage The spatter of the musket-shot, the rifles' whistling 

shed rain — 

To wave awhile that August morn above the column's The sand-hills drift round hope forlorn that never 

head; marched again! 

I heard the moan of muffled drum, the woman's wail 

of fife, Benjamin F. Taylor. 




Whose keystone breaks, as deep they plunge below." 

THE SHIPWRECKED SAILORS. 



gHE floods are raging, and the gales blow high, 
Low as a dungeon-roof impends the sky ; 
Prisoners of hope, between the clouds and 

waves, 
Six fearless sailors man yon boat that braves 
Peril redoubling upon peril past : 
— From childhood nurslings of the wayward blast. 
Aloft as o'er a buoyant arch they go, 



Whose keystone breaks, — as deep they plunge 

below ; 
Unyielding, though the strength of man be vain ; 
Struggling, though borne like surf along the main; 
In front, a battlement of rocks; in rear, 
Billow on billow bounding ; near, more near, 
They verge to ruin; — life and death depend 
On the next impulse , —shrieks and prayers ascend. 
James Montgomery. 



DESi RIPTION AND NARRATION. 



285 



MUSIC IN CAMP. 



m 



WO armies covered hill and plain, 
Where Rappahannock's waters 
j Ban deeply crimsoned w itb the Btain 
♦ Of battle's recenl slaughters. 



The summer clouds lay pitched like tents 

In meads of heavenly azure; 
Ami each dread gun of the elements 

Slept in Its high embrasure. 

The breeze so softly blew, it made 

No Eoresl Leaf to quiver; 
And the smoke of the random cannonade 

Rolled slowly from the river. 

And now where circling lulls looked down 

With cannon grimly planted, 
O'er listless camp and Bilenl town 

The golden sunset slanted. 

When on the fervid air there came 
A strain, now rich, now tender; 

The music seemed Itself aflame 
Wiih day'- departing splendor. 

A Federal hand, which eve and morn 
Played measures brave and nimble, 

Had ju-t -truck up with llute and born 
And lively clash Of CJ inbal. 

Down Hocked the soldier- to the bunks; 
Till, margined by it- pebbles, 

One wooded shore was blue with ••Yanks,'' 
And one was grey with "Rebels." 

Then all was still; and then the hand. 
With movement lighl and tricksy, 

Made stream and forest, hill and strand, 
Reverberate with " I >ixie." 

The conscious stream, with burnished glow, 

Went proudly o'er it- pebbles, 

But thrilled throughout it- deepest flow 
With yelling of the Rebels. 

Again a pause; and then again 
The trumpet pealed sonorous, 



And "Yankee Doodle" was the strain 
To which the shore gave chorus. 

The laughing ripple shoreward flew 

To ki-- the shining pebbles; 

Loud shrieked the -warming Boys in Blue 
Defiance to the Rebels. 

And yet once more the bugle sang 

Above the stormy riot ; 
No shout upon the evening rang — 

There reigned a holy quiet. 

The -ad. -low stream, it- noiseless llood 

Poured o'er the glistening pebbles; 
All Bilenl now the Yankees stood, 
All silenl stood the Rebels. 

No unresponsive soul had heard 

That plaintive note's appealing, 
go deeply "Home, Sweel Borne' 1 had stirred 

The bidden founts <>f feeling. 

Or Blue, or Grey, the soldi) i 

As bj the wand ol fairy. 

Tie- cottage 'jieath the live oak trees, 
The cabin b\ the prairie. 

The cold or warm, hi- native skies 

Bend In their beauty o'er him ; 
Been through the tear-misl In bis eyes, 

His loved ones -land before him. 

As fades the Iris after rain. 

In April'- tearful weather. 

Tin- \ i-'i..n vanished as the -train 
Ami >la> lighl died together. 

But Memorj . waked bj Music's art, 

Expressed In simple numbers, 
Subdued the sternest Yankee'- bean. 

Made light the Rebel's slumbers. 

And fair the form of Music shines- 
Thai bright celestial creature— 

Who still 'mid War's embattled lines 
Giv< - this one touch of Nature. 

John R. Thompson. 



THE DEATH OF XAPOLEOK 



jLjjSPTLD was the night, yet a wilder night 
Wxki Hung round the soldier's pillow ; 

in his bosom there waged a fiercer fight 
jj Thau the fight on the wrathful billow. 

A few fond mourners were kneeling by. 
The few that his stern heart cherished; 

They knew, by his glazed and unearthly eye, 
That life had nearly perished. 



They knew by his awful and kingly look, 
By the order hastily spoken, 

Thar he dreamed of day- when the nations shook, 
And the nation-' b ists were broken. 

He dreamed that the Frenchman's sword still slew, 
And triumphed the Frenchman's eagle, 

And the struggling Austrian lied anew, 
Like the hare before the beagle. 



286 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



The bearded Russian he scourged again, 
The Prussian's camp was routed, 

And again on the hills of haughty Spain 
His mighty armies shouted. 

Over Egypt's sands, over Alpine snows, 
At the pyramids, at the mountain, 

Where the wave of the lordly Danube flows, 
And by the Italian fountain. 

On the snowy cliffs where mountain streams 
1 Dash by the Switzer's dwelling, 



He led again, in his dying dreams, 
His hosts, the broad earth quelling. 

Again Marengo's field was won, 

And Jena's bloody battle; 
Again the world was overrun, 

Made pale at his cannon's rattle. 

He died at the close of that darksome day, 

A day that shall live in story ; 
In the rocky land they placed his clay, 

"And left him alone with his glory." 

Isaac McClellan. 



THE GRAVE OF BONAPARTE. 



m. 



ff a lone barren isle, where the wild roaring bil- 
Assail the stern rock, and the loud tempests 
rave, 
The hero lies still, while the dew-drooping willows, 
Like fond weeping mourners lean over the grave. 
The lightnings may flash, and the loud thunders 
rattle : 
He heeds not, he hears not, he 's free from all 
pain ; — 
He sleeps his last sleep — he has fought his last bat- 
tle! 
No sound can awake him to glory again! 

O shade of the mighty, where now are the legions 
That rushed but to conquer when thou led'st them 
on? 

Alas ! they have perished in far hilly regions, 
And all save the fame of their triumph is gone ! 



The trumpet may sound, and the loud cannon rattle! 
They heed not, they hear not, they're free from all 
pain: 
They sleep then- last sleep, they have fought their 
last battle ! 
No sound can awake them to glory again ! 

Yet, spirit immortal, the tomb cannot bind thee, 

For, like thine own eagle that soared to the sun, 
Thou springest from bondage and leavest behind 
thee 
A name which before thee no mortal had won. 
Though nations may combat, and war's thunders 
rattle, 
No more on the steed wilt thou sweep o'er the 
plain ; 
Thou sleep'st thy last sleep, thou hast fought thy last 
battle! 
No sound can awake thee to glory again ! 



THE OVERLAND TRAIN. 



Plains ! The shouting drivers at the wheel ; 
The crash of leather whips ; the crush and roll 
Of wheels; the groan of yokes and grinding 
steel 

And iron chain, and lo ! at last the whole 
Vast line, that reached as if to touch the goal, 
Began to stretch and stream away and wind 
Toward the west, as if with one control : 
Then hope loomed fair, and home lay far behind ; 
Before, the boundless plain, and fiercest of their kind. 

Some hills at last began to lift and break ; 
Some streams began to fail of wood and tide, 
The sombre plain began betime to take 
A hue of weary brown, and wild and wide 
It stretched its naked breast on every side. 



A babe was heard at last to cry for bread 
Amid the deserts; cattle lowed and died 
And dying men went by with broken tread, 
And left a long black serpent line of wreck and 
dead. 

They rose by night; they struggled on and on 
As thiu and still as ghosts; then here and there 
Beside the dusty way before the dawn 
Men silent laid them dowm in their despair, 
And died. But woman! Woman, frail as fair! 
May man have strength to give to you your due ; 
You faltered not, nor murmured anywhere, 
You held your babes, held to your course, and you 
Bore on through burning hell your double burthens 
through. 



DES< KIPTION AND NARRATION. 



287 



The dust arose, a long dim line like Bmoke 
From out a riven earth. The wheels wont by, 
The thousand feet in harness and in yoke 
They tore the way- of ashen alkali. 
And desert winds blew sadden, Bwift and dry. 
The du>t: it gal upon and filled the train! 
It Beemed t" fret and till the very sky. 
Lo! dust upon the beasts, the tent, the plain, 
And dust, alas! uu breasts that rose not up again. 



My bravo and unremembored heroes, rest; 
Yon fell in silence, silent lie and sleep. 
Sleep on unsung, for ihi-. 1 say, were best; 
The world to-day has hardly time to weep; 
The world to-day will hardly care to keep 
In heart her plain and unpretending bravo; 
The desert winds, they whistle by and sweep 
About yon; browned and russet grasses wave 
Along a thousand Leagues that lie one common grave. 

JOAyl/I.N MlLLLU. 




"The mother— the lads, with their nest, at her knee." 



ROBBING THE NEST 



¥T last wo stood at our mother's knee; 
Do you think, sir. if you try. 
You can paint the look of a lie? 
If you can, pray have the grace 
To put it solely in the face 
Of the urchin that is likest me: 

I think "twas solely mine, indeed : 

But that's no matter— paint it so; 
The eyes of our mother— take good heed- 
Looking not on the nestful of eggs, 
But straight through our faces, down to our lies, 
And oh, with such injured, reproachful surprise! 



I felt my bean bleed where that glance went, 
though 
A sharp blade struck through it. 

You, sir, know, 
That you on the canvas are to repeat 
ThinL r s that are fairest, things most sweet, — 
Woods and cornfields, and mulberry tree, — 
The mother,— the lad-, with their nest, at her knee; 

But. oh. that look of reproachful woe! 
High as the heavens your name I'll shout, 
If you paint me the picture and leave that out. 

Alice Cart. 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



THE FAMINE. 



I the long and dreary winter! 

Oh the cold and cruel winter! 

Ever thicker, thicker, thicker 

Froze the ice on lake and river ; 

Ever deeper, deeper, deeper 

Fell the snow o'er all the landscape, 

Fell the covering snow, and drifted 

Through the forest, round the village. 

Hardly from his buried wigwam 

Could the hunter force a passage ; 

With his mittens and his snow-shoes 

Vainly walked he through the forest, 

Sought for bird or beast and found none, 

Saw no track of deer or rabbit, 

In the snow beheld no footprints, 

In the ghastly, gleaming forest 

Fell, and could not rise from weakness. 

Perished there from cold and hunger. 

Oh the famine and the fever ! 
Oh the wasting of the famine I 
Oh the blasting of the fever ! 
Oh the wailing of the children I 
Oh the anguish of the women ! 
All the earth was sick and famished; 
Hungry was the air around them, 
Hungry was the sky above them, 
And the hungry stars in heaven 
Like the eyes of wolves glared at them! 

Into Hiawatha's wigwam 
Came two other guests, as silent 
As the ghosts were, and as gloomy; 
Waited not to be invited, 
Did not parley at the doorway, 
Sat there without word of welcome 
In the seat of Laughing Water; 
Looked with haggard eyes and hollow 
At the face of Laughing Water. 
And the foremost said: " Behold me! 
I am Famine, Buckadawin! " 
And the other said " Behold me! 
I am Fever, Ahkosewin! " 
And the lovely Minnehaha 
Shuddered as they looked upon her, 
Shuddered at the words they uttered, 
Lay down on her bed in silence, 
Hid her face, but made no answer; 
Lay there trembling, freezing, burning 
At the looks they cast upon her, 
At the fearful words they uttered. 

Forth into the empty forest 
Rushed the maddened Hiawatha ; 
In his heart was deadly sorrow, 



In his face a stony firmness, 

On his brow the sweat of anguish 

Started, but it froze and fell not. 

Wrapped in furs and armed for hunting 

With his mighty bow of ash-tree, 

With his quiver full of arrows, 

With his mittens, Minjekahwun, 

Into the vast and vacant forest 

On his snow-shoes strode he forward. 

" Gitche Manito, the mighty! " 
Cried he with his face uplifted 
In that bitter hour of anguish, 
"Give your children food, Father I 
Give us food, or we must perish ! 
Give me food for Minnehaha, 
For my dying Minnehaha! " 
Through the far-resounding forest, 
Through the forest vast and vacant 
Rang that cry of desolation, 
Rut there came no other answer 
Than the echo of his crying, 
Than the echo of the woodlands, 
*' Minnehaha ! Minnehaha ! " 

All day long roved Hiawatha 
In that melancholy forest, 
Through the shadow of whose thickets, 
In the pleasant days of summer, 
Of that ne'er forgotten summer, 
He had brought his young wife homeward 
From the land of the Dacotahs ; 
When the birds sang in the thickets, 
And the streamlets laughed and glistened, 
And the air was full of fragrance, 
And the loving Laughing Water 
Said with voice that did not tremble, 
" I will follow you, my husband ! •' 

In the wigwam with Nbkomis, 
With those gloomy guests that watched her, 
With the Famine and the Fever, 
She was lying, the beloved, 
She the dying Minnehaha. 
" Hark! " she said, " I hear a rushing, 
Hear a roaring and a rushing, 
Hear the Falls of Minnehaha 
Calling to me from a distance ! " 
" No, my child! " said old ISTokomis, 
" 'Tis the night- wind in the pine-trees!" 
" Look! " she said, " I see my father 
Standing lonely at his doorway, 
Beckoning to me from his wigwam 
In the land of the Dacotahs! " 
"No, my child! " said old Nokomis, 
*' 'Tis the smoke that waves and beckons ! " 



DESI K1PTI0X AND NARRATION". 



289 



"Ah!" Bhesaid, "the eyes oi Pauguk 
Glare upon me In the darkness, 
I can fee] his ley lingers 
Clasping mine amid Che darkness! 
Hiawatha I Biawathal " 

And the desolate Hiawatha, 
Faraway amid the forest, 
Miles away among the mountains, 
Heard thai sudden crj ol anguish, 
Heard the voice of Minnehaha 
Calling to him in the darkness, 
"Hiawatha! Eiawatha! " 

Over snow-flelds waste and pathless, 
Under Bnow-encnmbered branches, 
Homeward hurried Hiawatha, 
Emptj -handed, heavy-hearted, 
Heard Nbkomis moaning, walling; 
*• \\ abonovi in! Wahonowin! 
Would iiiai I had perished for you, 

Would thai I were dead a- you are! 

Wahonowin! Wahonowin! " 
And he rushed Into the wigwam, 
Saw the old Nbkomis slowlj 
Rocking i" ami fro and moaning, 
Saw his lovdy Minnehaha 

I..\ Ing dead and eold before him. 
And his bursting heart within him 
I'm red such a ei-y ol anguish, 
Thai the fores! aned and shuddered, 

That the very Mar- in heaven 

si k and trembled with bis anguish. 

Then he sat down still and speechless, 
On the hedof Minnehaha, 
At the feet of Laughing Water, 
At those willing feet, thai never 
More would lightly run to meel him. 
Never more would lightly follow. 



With both hands his face ho covered, 
Seven long day- and nights he sat there, 
As if in a swoon he sal [here, 
Speechless, motionless, unconscious 
Of the daylight or the darkness. 

Tien they buried Minnehaha; 
In the snow a grave thej made her, 
In the foresl deep and dark-. .me. 
Underneath the moaning hemlocks; 
Clothed her in her richest garments, 
Wrapped her in her robes oi ermine, 
Covered her with snow, like ermine; 
Thus thej buried Minnehaha. 
And ai oighl a fire was lighted, 
On her grave tour times was kindled, 
For her sou! upon its journey 
To the Islands ol the Blest I 
Prom bis doorway Hiawatha 
Saw || burning in the forest, 
Lighting up the gloomj hemlocks; 
Prom bis sleepless bed uprising, 
From the bed of Minnehaha, 

Si I and watched ll al the doorway, 

Thai ii might noi be extinguished, ' 
Might noi leave her in the darkness. 

•• Farewell! " said he, •• Minnehaha; 
Farewell, my Laughing Water! 
All my heart i- buried with 
All my thoughts go onward with you! 
Come not hack again to labor, 
Come not back again to -offer. 
Where the Famine and the Fever 
Wear the heart and waste the bodj . 

S i my ia-k will he completed, 

Soon your footsteps 1 shall follow 
To the l-laiid- ol the Blessed, 
To the Qngdom of Ponemah, 
To the Land of the Hereafter! " 

Hi m;v Wadswobth Longfellow. 



THE BRIDE. 



sTIE maid, and thereby hangs a tale. 
For such a maid no Whitsun-ale 

Could ever yet produce: 
No grape that 's kindly ripe could be 
So round, so plump, so soft as she, 
Nor half so full of juice. 

Her finger was so small, the ring 
Would not stay on which they dTd brine 

It was too wide a peck: 
And. to say truth.— for out it must.— 
It looked like the great collar— just- 
About our young colt's neck. 



Her foot beneath her petticoat. 
Like little mice, Stole in and our. 

As if they feared the light; 
Bul I '. she dances such a way! 
No sun upon an Easter-day 

Is half so fine a sight. 

Her cheeks so rare a white was on, 
Xo daisy makes comparison; 

Who sees them is undone; 
For streaks of red were mingled there, 
Such as are on a Katherine pear, 

The side that "s next the sun. 



THE KOYAL GALLEKY. 



Her lips were red ; and one was thin, 
Compared to that was next her chin. 

Some bee had stung it newly ; 
But, Dick, her eyes so guard her face 
I durst no more upon them gaze, 

Than on the sun in July. 



Her mouth so small, when she does speak, 
Thou 'dst swear her teeth her words did break, 

That they might passage get; 
But she so handled still the matter, 
They came as good as ours, or better, 

And are not spent a whit. 



Sir John Suckling. 



THE OLD MILL. 



|ONELY by Miami's stream, 
Gray in twilight's fading beam, 
Spectral, desolate and still ; 
Smitten by the storm of years, 
Ah! how changed to me appears 
Yonder old deserted mill. 




While my pensive eyes behold 
Mossy roof and gable old, 

Shadowy through obscuring trees 
Memory's vision, quick and true, 
Time's long vista looking through, 

Bygone scenes more plainly sees. 



Sees upon the garner floor 
Wheat and corn in ample store, — 

Powdery whiteness everywhere ; 
Sees a miller, short and stout, 
Whistling cheerfully about, 

Making merry with his oare. 

Pleased, he listens to the whirr 
Of the swift-revolVing burr, 

Deeming brief each busy hour; 
Like a stream of finest snow, 
Sifting to the bin below, 

Fall the tiny flakes of flour. 

Once, with childhood's vague intent, 
Down some furtive way I went, 

Through a broken floor to peer; 
Saw the fearful water drift 
In a current, dark and swift, 

Flying from the angry weir. 

Once, with timid steps and soft, 
Stealthily I climbed aloft; 

Up and up the highest stair; 
Iron cogs were rumbling round, — 
Every vague and awful sound, 

Mocked and mumbled at me there. 

Wonder if those wheels remain, 
And would frighten me again? 

Wonder if the miller's dead? 
Wonder if his ghost at night 
Haunts the stairs, a phantom white? 

Walks the loft with hollow tread? 

Glides the river past the mill, 
But the wheels are stark and still, 

Worn and wasting, day by day; 
So the stream of years will run 
When my busy life is done, 

So my task-house shall decay. 

W. H. Venable. 



IfflpHE beauty of the country surpasses all the grandeur of the city. In the city there 
sUb are gardens cultivated with floral skill ; but they are not half so lovely even as the 
fields, whose swelling grain waves, and nods, and trembles to the whisking wind. 



DES< llllTlOX AM) NARRATION. 



201 



TTTE FLOOD OF YEARS. 



fMTOTITY hand from an exhaustless urn 
Poors forth the never-ending Flood ol Tears 
Among the Nations. How the rushing waves 
Bear all before them ! <>n their foremosl edge, 
And there alone, is Life ; the Present there 
Tosses and foams and till- the air « iih roar 
Of mingled noises. There ore they n ho toil, 
And they who strive, and they who feast, and they 
Who hurry to and fro. The Btnrdy hind- 
Woodman and delver with ili«' spade— are then . 
Ami busy artisan beside hi- bench, 
And pallid Btudent with his written roll. 

A in< nt on the mounting billow seen— 

The flood sweeps over them and they are gone. 

There groups of revelers, \\ hose brow - are tw Ined 

With roses, ride the topmosl swell awhile, 

And as they raise their flow Ing cups to touch 

The clinking brim to brim, are \\ blrled beneath 

The waves and disappear. 1 hear the jar 

Of beaten drums and thunders that break forth 

From cannon, \\ here the advancing billow sends 

Up i>' the slghl long flies "i armed men. 

That hurry to the charge through fin and smoke. 

The torrent bean them under, w helmed and hid. 

Slayer and slain, In heaps ol bl Ij foam. 

Dow n go the steed and rider; the plumed chief 
is i 1 1 k < with his follower-; the head thai wears 
The Imperial diadem goes down beside 
The felon'- w ith cropped ear and branded cheek. 
A funeral train the torrent Bweeps away, 
Bearers and bier ami mourners. Bj thehed 
Of one who dies men gather sorrow Ing, 

And women weep aloud; the floods roll on; 

The wail i< stilled, and the sobbing group 

Borne nnder. Hark to thai -brill, sudden shout— 

The cry of an applauding multitude 

Swayed by -ome loud-tongucd orator who wields 

The living mass a- if he' were ii- soul! 

The water- choke the -hoiit ami all i- -till. 
I.o. next, a kneeling crowd, and one who spreads 
The hands in prayer! the engulfing wave overtakes 
And swallow- them and him. A sculptor wields 

The chisel, and the -tricken marble grows 
To beamy; at his ea-oi. eager-eyed, 
A painter stands, and sunshine at hi- touch 
Gathers upon the canvas, and life glows; 

A poet, a- he paces to and fro, 

Murmurs his sounding lines. Awhile they ride 

The advancing billow, till its tossing crest 

Strikes them and flings them under while their tasks 

Are yet unfinished. See a mother smile 

On hery ig babe that smile- to her again— 

The torrent wrests ii from her arms; she shrieks, 
Aud weeps, and midst her tears is carried down. 



A beam like thai of moonlight turns the -pray 

ning pearls; two lovers, hand in hand. 
Ki-e on the billowy -well and fondlj look 
Into each other's eye-. The rushing flood 
Flings them apan ; the youth goes down; the maid 
With hand- outstretched in vain, and streaming eyes. 
Wait- for tie- next high wave i" follow him. 
An ag£d man succeeds; hi- bending form 
sink- -lowly: mingling with the sullen stream 
Gleam the white locks and then arc seen no more. 

I.o. w Ider grow - the stream ; a sea-like Hood 
Sap- earth's walled cities; massive palaces 
('rumble before ii ; fortresses and towers 
Dissolve in the swifl waters; populous realms 
Bwepl by tie- torrent, see their ancient tribes 
Engulfed and lost, their very langii 
Stiihd and never to i»- uttered more. 

I pause and turn my eyes, and. looking back. 

Where that tumultuous flood has passed, I 

The sllenl Ocean of the Past, a waste 

Of waters weltering over graves, 'u- shores 

Strewn with tin- wreck of lied-, when- ma-l and hull 

Drop away piecemeal; battlemented walls 

I" row n Idly, green \\ Ith mo--, and tempi - stand 

Unroofed, forsaken by the worsbipi 

There lie IU.|I|. ■! I.ll -I. .lie-. \\||, tHX 1 i I 1 1 • ■ li:i - -liaWed 

The graven legends, thr - "i kings o'erturncd, 

The broken altars ol forgotten gods, 
Foundations "i "id cities and long streets 

Where never tail of human feet i- heard 

Upon the desolate pavement I behold 
Dim glimmerings "i losl jewels far within 
The sleeping water-, diamonds, sardonyx, 
Ruby and topaz, pearl and chrysolite, 
Once glittering al the banquet on fair brows 

That long ago were du-t : and all around. 

Strewn on the water- of thai sileul sea, 
Are withering bridal wreaths, ami glossy locks 
Shorn from fair brows by loving baud-, and scrolls 
O'erwritten— haply with fond words "f l"\" 
And vows of friend-hip— and fair pages flung 
Fresh from the printer's engine. There they lie 
A moment and then -ink awaj from sight. 

I look and the quick tears are in my eyes, 

For l behold, in everj • of these, 

A blighted hope, a separate history 

Of human sorrow, telling of dear ties 

Suddenly broken, dr. nn- ..f happiness 

Dissolved in air. and happy days, loo brief, 

Thai sorrowfully ended: aud I think 

HOW painfully the poor heart must have beat 

In bosoms without number, a- the blow 

Was struck that slew their hope or broke their peace. 



292 



THE ROYAL GALLEEY. 



Sadly I turn, and look before, where yet 
The flood must pass, and I behold a mist 
Where swarm dissolving forms, the brood of Hope, 
Divinely fair, that rest on banks of flowers 
Or wander among rainbows, fading soon 
And reappearing, haply giving place 
To shapes of grisly aspect, such as Fear 
Molds from the idle air ; where serpents lift 
The head to strike, and skeletons stretch forth 
The bony arm in menace. Further on 
A belt of darkness seems to bar the way, 
Long, low, and distant, where the Life that Is 
Touches the Life to Come. The Flood of Years 
Rolls toward it, near and nearer. It must pass 
That dismal barrier. What is there beyond? 
Hear what the wise and good have said. 

Beyond 
That belt of darkness still the years roll on 
More gently, but with not less mighty sweep. 
They gather up again and softly bear 
All the sweet lives that late were overwhelmed 
And lost to sight — all that in them was good, 
Noble and truly great and worthy of love — 



The lives of infants and ingenuous youths, 

Sages and saintly women who have made 

Their households happy — all are raised and borne 

By that great current in its onward sweep, 

Wandering and rippling with caressing waves 

Around green islands, fragrant with the breath 

Of flowers that never wither. So they pass, 

From stage to stage, along the shining course 

Of that fair river broadening like a sea. 

As its smooth eddies curl along their way, 

They bring old friends together ; hands are clasped 

In joy unspeakable ; the mother's arms 

Again are folded round the child she loved 

And lost. Old sorrows are forgotten now, 

Or but remembered to make sweet the hour 

That overpays them ; wounded hearts that bled 

Or broke are healed forever. In the room 

Of this grief-shadowed Present there shall be 

A Present in whose reign no grief shall gnaw 

The heart, and never shall a tender tie 

Be broken — in whose reign the eternal Change 

That waits on growth and action shall proceed 

With everlasting Concord hand in hand. 

William Cullen Bryant. 



THE OLD WATER-WHEEL. 



ppT lies beside the river, where its marge 
lis Is black with many an old and oarless barge, 
fm And yesty filth and leafage wild and rank 
4W Stagnate and beaten by the crumbling bank. 

Once, slow revolving by the industrious mill, 
It murmured, — only on the sabbath still ; 
And evening winds its pulse-like beating bore 
Down the soft vale and by the winding shore. 

Sparkling around its orbed motion, flew, 
With quick fresh fall, the drops of dashing dew ; 
Through noontide heat that gentle rain was flung, 
And verdant, round, the summer herbage sprung. 

Now, dancing light and sounding motion cease, 
In these dark hours of cold continual peace ; 



Through its black bars the unbroken moonlight flows, 
And dry winds howl about its long repose ! 

And mouldering lichens creep, and mosses gray 
Cling round its arms, in gradual decay, 
Amidst the hum of men, — which doth not suit 
That shadowy circle, motionless and mute ! 

So, by the sleep of many a human heart 
The crowd of men may bear their busy part. 
Where withered, or forgotten, or subdued, 
Its noisy passions have left solitude : — 

Ah ! little can they trace the hidden truth. 
What waves have moved it in the vale of youth I 
And little can its broken chords avow 
How once they sounded. All is silent, now! 

John Ruskin. 



THE DEAD. 



THINK about the dead by day, 

I dream of them at night : 
Tbey seem to stand beside my chair, 
Clad in tbe clothes they used to wear, 

And by my bed in white. 

The common-places of their lives, 

The lightest words they said, 
Revive in me, and give me pain, 



And make me wish them back again, 
Or wish that I were dead. 

I would be kinder to them now, 

Were they alive once more ; 
Would kiss their cheeks and kiss their hair, 
And love them like the angels there, 

Upon the silent shore. 

Richard Henry Stoddard. 



DESCKU'TION AXD NARRATION. 



293 



THE WRECK OF THE SniP. 



JlifiUT list! a low and moaning sound 

t' At distance heard, like a spirit's soug, 
K Aud now it reigns above, around. 
♦ As if it called the ship along. 
The moon is sunk; and a clouded gray 
Declares that her coups. • is nm. 
Aud like a god who brings the day. 
Up mouuU the glorious . lM1 . 



But gently now the small waves glide 
Like plaj i hi lambs o'er a mountain's side. 
So statelj her bearing, so proud her array. 
The main she will traverse forever and aye. 
Man; ports will exull at the gleam of her mast; — 
Hush! bush! thou rain dreamer I this hour is her 
last 




"And like a god who brings the day 
Up mounts the glorious sun." 



Soon as his light has warmed the seas. 

From the parting cloud fresh blows the breeze; 

And that is the spirit whose well-known song 

Makes the vessel to sail in joy along. 

Nb fears hath she: her giant form 

O'er wrathful surge, through blackening storm, 

Majestically calm would go 

•Mid the deep darkness white as snow! 



Five hundred souls iu one instant of dread 

Are hurried o'er the deck; 

And fast the miserable ship 

Becomes a lifeless wreck. 

Her keel hath struck on a hidden rock, 

Her planks are torn asunder, 

And down come her masts with a reeling shock, 

Aud a hideous crash like thunder. 



294 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



Her sails are draggled in the brine, 

That gladdened late the skies, 

And her pennant, that kissed the fair moonshine, 

Down many a fathom lies. 




"And her pennant, that kissed the fair moonshine, 
Down many a fathom lies." 

Her beauteous sides, whose rainbow hues 
Gleamed softly from below, 



And flung a warm and sunny flush 
O'er the wreaths of murmuring snow, 
To the coral rocks are hurrying down, 
To sleep amid colors as bright as their own. 

O, many a dream was in the ship 

An hour before her death ; 

And sights of home with sighs disturbed 

The sleeper's long-drawn breath. 

Instead of the murmur of the sea, 

The sailor heard the humming tree 

Alive through all its leaves, 

The hum of the spreading sycamore 

That grows before his cottage-door, 

And the swallow's song in the eaves. 

His arms enclosed a blooming boy, 

Who listened with tears of sorrow and joy 

To the dangers his father had passed ; 

And his wife, — by turns she wept and smiled, 

As she looked on the father of her child, 

Returned to her heart at last. 

He wakes at the vessel's sudden roll, 

And the rush of waters is in his soul. 

Astounded, the reeling deck he paces, 

Mid hurrying forms and ghastly faces; 

The whole ship's crew are there! 

Wailings around and overhead, 

Brave spirits stupefied or dead, 

And madness and despair. 

John Wilson ("Christopher North). 



THE GLOVE AND THE LIONS. 



sESTG Francis was a hearty king, and loved a De Lorge's love o'erheard the king, a beauteous, lively 

royal sport, dame, 

And one day as his lions fought, sat looking on With smiling lips and sharp bright eyes, which alway 

the court • seemed the same ; 

The nobles filled the benches, with the ladies in She thought, "The count, my lover, is brave as brave 



their pride, 



can be ; 



And 'mongst them sat the Count de Lorge, with He surely would do wondrous things to show his love 

one for whom he sighed : of me ; 

And truly 'twas a gallant thing to see that crowning King, ladies, lovers, all look on; the occasion is 

• show, divine ; 

Valor and love, and a king above, and the royal I'll drop my glove, to prove his love ; great glory will 

beasts below. be mine." 

Ramped and roared the lions, with horrid laughing She dro PP ed her S love to P rove Ws love ' then looked 

. at him and smiled ; 

They buTthey glared, gave blows like beams, a wind He bo ^ and in a moment leaped among the lions 

went with their paws ; AN l ' . . . 

With wallowing might and stifled roar they rolled on The lea P was quick, return was quick, he has regained 

° . ° his place, 

Till alUtepit with sand and mane was in a thunder- Tben threw the S love ' but not ^ th love > ri S nt in the 
ous smother; 



lady's face. 



The bloody foam above the bars came whisking "By Heaven! said Francis, "rightly done!" and he 

through the air; , AT , rose f™m where he sat: 

Said Francis, then, "Faith, gentlemen, we're better " No lo f< <I«°th ^, "but vamty, sets love a task like 
i. ii_ .. „ that." 

here than there." Leigh Hunt; ' 



DESl EUPTION AND XATCK \TloY. 



295 




THE HERON. 



JIIERE a brighl .reck Into a river's side 
Shoots its keen arrow, a green heron sits 
Watching the sunflsb aa it gleaming iiit~ 
From sheen to shade. Be sees tin- turtle 
glide 
Through the clear spaces of the rhythmic stream 
Like mii no weird fancy through a poet's dream ; 
He turns his golden eyes from Bide to side, 



In very gladness that be is not dead, 

While the swifl wind-stream ripples overhead 

And the creek's wavelets babble underneath. 
birdl thai in a cheerful gloom dosl live, 

Thou art, t i a n pe oJ happj death; 

For when thou flyesl away ii" mate will grieve 

Because I I - strange spirit vanisheth! 

JAJIES ilAUKICE THOMPSON. 



THE EOTAL GALLEKY. 



THE BRIDES OF ENDEBBY; OR, THE HIGH TIDE. (157t.) 



;HE old mayor climbed the belfry tower, 
The ringers rang by two, by three; 

"Pull, if ye never pulled before; 
Good ringers, pull your best," quoth he. 

"Play uppe, play uppe, O, Boston bells! 
Play all your changes, all your swells, 

Play uppe 'The Brides of Enderby.' " 



Alle fresh the level pasture lay, 
And not a shadowe mote be seene, 

Save where full fjwe good miles away 
The steeple towered from out the greeDA; 

And lo ! the great bell farre and wide 

Was heard in all the country side 

That Saturday at eventide. 



Men say it was a stolen tyde — 

The Lord that sent it, He knows all; 

But in myne ears doth still abide 
The message that the bells let fall: 

And there was naugbt of strange beside 

The flight of mews and peewits pied 
By millions crouched on the old sea-wall. 

I sat and spun within my doore, 
My thread brake off, I raised myne eyes; 

The level sun, like ruddy ore, 
Lay sinking in the barren skies, 

And dark against day's golden death 

She moved where Lindis wandereth, 

My Sonne's faire wife, Elizabeth. 

"Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!" calling 
Ere the early dews were falling, 
Farre away, I heard her song. 
"Cusha! Cusha!" all along; 
Where the reedy Lindis floweth, 

Floweth, floweth, 
From the fields where melick groweth 
Faintly came her milking song— 

"Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!*' calling, 
"For the dews will soonc be falling; 
Leave your meadow grasses mellow, 

Mellow, mellow; 
Quit your cowslips yellow; 
Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot, 
Quit the stalks of parsley hollow, 

Hollow, hollow ; 
Come uppe Jetty, rise and follow, 
From the clovers lift your head ; 
Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot, 
Come up Jetty, rise and follow, 
Jetty, to the milking shed." 



The swanherds where there sedges are 
Moved on in sunset's golden breath, 

The shepherde lads I heard afarre, 
And my Sonne's wife, Elizabeth; 

Till floating o'er the grassy sea 

Came downe that kindly message free, 

The "Brides of Mavis Enderby." 

Then some looked uppe into the sky, 
And all along where Lindis flows 

To where the goodly vessels lie, 
And where the lordly steeple shows, 

They sayde, "And why should this thing be? 

What danger lowers by land or sea? 

They ring the tune of Enderby ! 

"For evil news from Mablethorpe, 
Of pyrate galleys warping down ; 
For shippes ashore beyond the scorpe, 

They have not spared to wake the towne; 
But while the west bin red to see, 
And storms be none, and pyrates flee, 
Why ring 'The brides of Enderby?' " 

I looked without, and lo ! my sonne 
Came riding down with might and main: 

He raised a shout as he drew on, 
Till all the welkin rang again, 

"Elizabeth! Elizabeth!" 

(A sweeter woman ne'er drew breath 

Than my sonne 's wife Elizabeth.) 

"The old sea wall (he cried) is downe. 

The rising tide comes on apace, 
And boats adrift in yonder towne 

Go sailing uppe the market-place." 
He shook as one that looks on death : 
"God save you mother!" strait he saith, 
"Where is my wife, Elizabeth?" 



If it be long, ay, long ago, 

When 1 begin to think how long, 
Againe I hear the Lindis flow, 

Swift as an arrowe, sharp and strong; 
And all the aire, it seemeth mee, 
Bin full of floating bells (sayth shee), 
That ring the time of Enderby. 



"Good sonne, where Lindis winds away, 
With her two bairns, I marked her long; 
And ere yon bells beganne to play 

Afar I heard her milking song. 
Tie looked across the grassy lea, 
■To right, to left, "Ho Enderby!" 
They rang "The Brides of Enderby!" 



DESCRIPTION .LVD NAKKATH >N. 



297 



■With that he cried and beat his breast; 

For, lo! along the river's bed 
A mighty eygre reared his crest. 

And npi>e the Limbs raging sped. 
It swept with thunderous noises loud; 
Shaped like a curling snow-white cloud, 
Or like a demon in a shroud. 

And rearing Lindis backward pressed, 

Shook all her trembling bankes amalne, 
Then madly at the' eygre"- breast 

Flung appe ber weltering walls again. 
Then bankea came downe with ruin and rout — 
Then beaten foam flew round about — 
Then all the might; floods were out. 

So farre, so fast the eygre 'have. 

The heart had hanlh time to beat, 
Before a shallow Beethlng wave 

Sobbed in the grasses at oure feet, 
The feet had hardly lime to flee 
Before it brake against the knee. 
And all the world was in tliesea. 

Upon the roofe we sat that night, 
The noise of heii- went sweeping by; 

I marked the lofty beacon light 

Stream from the chorcb tower, red and bigh- 
A lurid mark and dread to see; 
And awesome bells they were in mee, 
That in the dark rang " Bnderby." 

They rang the Bailor lads to guide 
Prom roofe i" roofe who fearless rowed; 

And I — my Bonne was at mj side, 
And yet the ruddy beacon glowed; 

And yet be moaned beneath hi- breath 

"0 ( ie in life, or co in death I 

Olost'. my love, Elizabeth." 

And didst thou visit him no more? 
Thou did'-t. thou di'l'-t. my daughter deare; 

The waters laid thee at hi- doore, 
Ere yet the early daw u was clear, 



Tin pretty bairns in fast embrace. 
The lifted BlUl -hone on thy face. 
Downe drifted t" fliy dwelling place. 

That flow strewed wrecks ah the grass, 

That ebbe swept out the dock- to sea; 

A fatal ebbe and flow, ala-! 

To manye more than myne ami me: 
But each will mourn liis own (she saith), 

And BWeeter woman ne'er drew breath 

Than my Bonne's wife. Elizabeth. 

1 shall never hear her more 
Bj the reedy Lindis shore, 
"Cusha! Cushal Cusha! " calling 
Ere lie- early dews be falling; 
I shall ne\er hear her song, 
l -( fusha! I lushal " all along 
"Where tin- -iinuy Lindis floweth, 

Goeth. floweth; 
From tie- meads where melick groweth, 
When the water w inding down, 
Onward floweth to the tow n. 

I -hall never her more 

Where the Iee,l- an. I Ill-he- quiver, 

Shiver, quiver; 
Stand beside tie- sobbing river, 
Bobbing, throbbing, in Its falling 
To tie sand] lonesome shore; 
1 shall never hear her calling, 
« Leave your meadow grasses mellow, 

Mellow . mellow : 
Quit j our cow -lip-, cow -lip- \ allow ; 

('one- appe Whitefoot, c uppe, Lighrfoot; 

Quit yonr pipes "t' parsley hollow . 

Hollow . hollow : 
Come uppe Lightfoot, ri-e and follow; 

LlghtfOOt, W hilefoot. 

Prom j "in- clovers lift tie- head; 
Come uppe J< ttj . follow . follow, 
Jetty, t" tie- milking-shed." 

Ji;ax Lngelow. 



CROQUET. 



r :ATE carved in granite, with grilTms at rest. 

Arches built grandly to welcome the u r uo-t. 

Elm-guarded avenue, dim as sea-caves, 

Sweep of quaint bridges and rush of clear wave-. 

Group of acacia-, .lark cluster of pines. 
Mansion half-whelmed in a torrent of vines. 
Fountain a shower of lire, lake a soft gloom, 
Garden unrolling broad ribbons of bloom, 
Lawn smooth as satin and air cud as spray, — 
Roland and Christabel deep in croquet! 



Christabel— Roland, the flower of our clan. 
Noble and bountiful —match them who can. 
lie fleet ami supple, yet strong as young Saul; 
She in ten thousand the fairest of all: 
He quick to anger, but loving ami leal: 
She true and tender, though tempered like steel; 
Both of all weathers, fine dew and fierce hail, 
Ice on the, mountain and flowers in the vale: 
All their -till frostiness melted away. 
Just for that nonsense — a game of croquet! 



THE KOYAL GALLEKY. 



Only croquet? Never trust to the game, 
Kindling such raillery, feeding such flame-, 
Keeping such hird-bolts of laughter in flight, 
Tossing such roses of battle in sight ! 
Eoland in triumph and ready to scoff, 
Christabel poising her mallet far-off, 
Ball speeding on with the wind in its wake, 
Smiting its rival and hitting the stake ! 
Who is the victor! Proud Koland, at bay, 
Captures the hand that has won at croquet. 



Now is their magic enchainment complete ; 
Haughty, shy Christabel — far-away sweet, 
Caught in that wind from the Aidenn of souls, 
Blushes rose-bright as red snow of the poles ! 
Out of all lovers match these if you can;— 
Spotless, great-hearted, the flower of our clan. 
If they should quarrel— half -right and half -wrong- 
Oaks root them deeper when breezes are strong. 
Now may Love lead them away and away, 
Through the wide Heavens, from that game of 
croquet !- 

Amanda T. Jones. 



LORD TJLLDPS DAUGHTER. 



CHIEFTAIN, to the Highlands bound, 
Cries, " Boatman, do not tarry! • 

And I '11 give thee a silver pound, 
To row us o'er the ferry." 

" Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle 
This dark and stormy water?" 

"O I 'm the chief of Ulva's isle, 
And this Lord Ullin's daughter. 

*' And fast before her father's men 
Three days we 've fled together, 

Eor should he find us in the glen, 
My blood would stain the heather. 

*'His horsemen hard behind us ride; 

Should they our steps discover, 
Then who will cheer my bonny bride 

When they have slain her lover?" 

Out spoke the hardy Highland wight, 
"I '11 go, my chief — I'm ready: 

It is not for your silver bright, 
But for your winsome lady : 

*' And by my word ! the bonny bird 

In danger shall not tarry; 
So, though the waves are raging white, 

I '11 row you o'er the ferry." 

By this the storm grew loud apace, 
The water- wraith was shrieking; 

And in the scowl of heaven each face 
Grew dark as they were speaking. 



But still as wilder blew the wind, 

And as the night grew drearer, 
Adown the glen rode armed men, 

Their trampling sounded nearer. 

*' O haste thee, haste! " the lady cries, 
"Though tempests round us gather; 

I '11 meet the raging of the skies, 
But not an angry father." 

The boat has left a stormy land, 

A stormy sea before her, — 
When, O ! too strong for human hand, 

The tempest gathered o'er her. 

And still they rowed amidst the roar 

Of waters fast prevailing : 
Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore, 

His wrath was changed to wailing. 

For sore dismayed, through storm and shade, 

His child he did discover : 
One lovely hand she stretched for aid, 

And one was round her lover. 

" Come back! come back! " he cried in grief, 

"'Across this stormy water: 
And I '11 forgive your Highland chief, 

My daughter! — O my daughter! " 

5 T was vain ; the loud waves lashed the shore, 

Beturn or aid preventing : 
The waters wild went o'er his child, — 

And he was left lamenting. 

Thomas Campbell. 



DESt BUTTON AND NARRATION. 



299 



GOODY BLAKE AND HARRY GILL. 



r\H! what'- the matter?— what's the matter? 
V-/> WIi:it i-'t that ail- > « <n riir Harry Oil], 
-"• That evermore hie teeth they chatter— 
* Chatter, chatter, ohatter Btill? 
| Of waistcoats Harrj has no lack, 
' Good dnffel gray and flannel fine; 
Ee h:i- a blanket on his back, 
And coate enough to smother nine. 

in March, December, and In July, 

"li- all the same « iih Barry I .ill : 
The neighbors tell, and tell you truly, 

His teeth they chatter, chatter -till. 
At night, at morning, and at i n, 

Tls all the same « ith Harrj Gill; 
Beneath the sun, beneath the i o, 

Hi- teeth thej chatter, chatter -till! 

Young Barry was a lustj drover — 

Ami who so stout "i limb as he? 
His cheeks were red as ruddj clover; 

in- voice was like the voice ol three. 
Old Good] Blake was old and poor; 

Dl-fed Bhe was, and thlulj clad; 
And any man w h.> passed her d • 

Might Bee bo« i r a hut she had. 

All day Bhe spun In her i r dwelling, 

And then her three hours 1 work at night— 
Ala-: twas hi i.l I \ worth the tell] 

It would not paj for candle-light 
Remote from sheltering village green, 

On a hill's oorthem Bide she dwelt, 
Where from Bea-blasts the hawthorns lean, 

And hoary dews arc slow to null. 

liy the same fire to boil their pottage, 

Two poor ( .id dames, as I have known, 
"Will often live in one -mall cottage; 

l?ut she — I lour woman — housed a lono. 

'Twa- well enough when summer came, 

The long, warm, lightsome summer-day; 
Thou at her door the canty dame 

"Would sit, as any linnet gay. 
But when the ice our streams did fetter. 

Oh, thou how her old bones would -hake! 
Ton would have -aid. if yon had met her, 

'Twa.< a hard time for Goody Blake. 
Her evenings then were dull and dead; 

Sad case it was. as you may think, 
For very cold to go to bed. 

And then for cold not sleep a wink! 
Oh, joy for her! whene'er in winter 

The winds at night had made a rout, 
And scattered many a lusty splinter 

And many a rotten bough about. 
Yet never had she, well or sick, 

As every man who knew her says, 



A pile beforehand, turf or stick, 

Enough to warm her for thn- days. 
Now, when iii,. frost was past enduring, 

And made her i ■ Did bones !•■ ache, 

Could anj thing i" more alluring 

Than an old led-'' to <■ l\ Blake? 

And DOM and lien, ii mii-l I. 

When le r old bones were cold ami chill, 
Bhe left her lire, or left her bed, 
i seek He- hedge ol Many Gill. 

Now, Harry le- had Ion- suspected 

This trespass ol old h Blake, 

And rowed that she should be detei ■■■ d, 

And l u her would vengeance take. 

And ..it from his warm fire hi 

• tie- fields hi- road would take; 

And there at night, in fr08l and snow, 

It.- watched I ■ - u old Goody Blake. 
And once, behind a rick of barley, 
Tim- looking out did Harrj stand; 

Tie- 11 1 was full and shining clearly, 

And crisp with frost tie- stubble-land. 

II.- i,. ..- a noise] he's all awake 1— 
Again!— on tiptoe down the hill 

H Joftlj creeps, 'i i- • h Blake I 

She's at ih. h( dge •■! Barrj «.ill! 

Right glad wa- In- when he beheld her! 

Stick after -tick did 1 h pull ; 

11 od behind a bush ol elder, 

Till -le- had lill.-d her apron full. 

Wh.u wiih lei- load -In- turned about, 

Tie bywaj back again to take, 
Ih- Btarted forward w iih a shout, 

And sprang upon 1 ■ Goodj Blake; 

And fierce]) by tie- arm he look her, 

And by tie- arm le- held her fast; 
Ami fiercely by the arm he shook her. 

And cried, "I'vecaught you, then, at last! 1 
Then < toodj . w ho had nothing -aid. 

Her bundle from her lap lei fall ; 
And. k sling on the sticks, -he prayed 

To God. who i- the Judge of all. 

bhe prayed, her withered hand uprearing, 
While Harry held her by the arm — 

" God, who an neve,- ,,in ol hearing, 
Oh. may he never more he warm! " 

The cold, cold moon above her head, 
Thus on her knee- did Goody pray. 

Young Harry heard what she had said, 
And, icy cold, he turned away. 

He went complaining all the morrow 
That he was cold and very chill : 

His face was gloom, his heart was sorrow- 
Alas ! that day for Harry Gill! 



300 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



That day he wore a riding-coat, 
But not a whit the warmer he ; 

Another was on Thursday brought, 
And ere the Sabbath he had three. 

■'Twas all in vain — a useless matter — 
And blankets were about him pinned ; 

Yet still his jaws and teeth they clatter, 
Like a loose casement in the wind. 

And Harry's flesh it fell away; 
And all who see him say, " 'Tis plain 



That, live as long as live he may, 
He never will be warm again." 

No word to any man he utters, 

Abed or up, to young or old ; 
But ever to himself he mutters, 

"Poor Harry Gill is very cold I " 
Abed or up, by night or day, 

His teeth they chatter, chatter still. 
Now, think, ye farmers all, I pray, 

Of Goody Blake and Harry Gill! 

William Wordsworth. 




" From the fireside with many a shrug he hies, 
Glad if the full-orb'd moon salute his eyes." 

MOONLIGHT. 



flf N part these nightly terrors to dispel, 
Hll Giles, ere he sleeps, his little flock must tell. 
X From the fireside with many a shrug he hies, 
I Glad if the full-orb'd moon salute his eyes, 
And through the unbroken stillness of the night 
Shed on his path her beams of cheering light. 
With sauntering steps he climbs the distant stile, 
Whilst all around him wears a placid smile; 
There views the white-robed clouds in clusters driven, 
And all the glorious pageantry of Heaven ; 
Low, on the utmost boundary of the sight, 
The rising vapors catch the silver light; 



Thence Fancy measures, as they parting fly, 
Which first will throw its shadow on the eye, 
Passing the source of light; and thence away, 
Succeeded quick by brighter still than they. 
Far yet above these wafted clouds are seen 
(In a remoter sky, still more serene) 
Others, detached in ranges through the air, 
Spotless as snow, and countless as they're fair; 
Scattered immensely wide from east to west, 
The beauteous semblance of a flock at rest. 
These to the raptured eye, aloud proclaim 
Then- mighty Shepherd's everlasting Name. 

Robert Bloomfield. 



ssa 





/ ^nev? a. <^rea.n\ -for jtk^fjfv^ twat, 
.\boat 

V 

Vrler\ fl- 1 (vci= caprice 

luovc'^ jVubicotv 



DES< RIPTION AND NARRATION 



30J 




THE RIVER \\ YK. 



YTlYK years have passed; five summers with the 
■A- • length 
•'- i >t Ave long winters ! and igain I hear 
H, These waters rolling from their untaln- 

BprfngS 

Wltb a Bweel inland murmur. Once again 

Do I behold these steep and loftj .lift--. 

That "ii a wild secluded scene impress 

Thoughts "i more deep seclusion; and connect 

The landscape with the quiel of the Bky. 

Tin' day i- come when 1 again repose 

Here, under this .lark sycamore, an. I \i.u 

I'll.-.- plots "i cottage-ground' these orchard-tufts, 



Which ai this season, with their unripe fruits, 
An- clad in one green hne, an. I lose themselves 

Among ill.' n I- ami copses, nor disturb 

The wild green landscape. Once again 1 see 
These hedge-rows, bardlj hedge-rows, liitl<- lines 
01 sportive wood run wild: these pasti ral farms, 
Green to the very door; an. I wreaths ■ i smoke 

Sent ii|. in silence, from a g the l 

Willi -..in.- u in-, riain notice, a- mighl seem 
of vagrant dwellers in me houseless 
Or ol some hermit's cave, where bj I 
The hermit -it- alone. 

U ll.I.IAM W ORDSM OBI II. 



LocnixA'Airs ride. 



SfYi YOT*Xr; I.orhinvar ha- eonie out of the Wesl ' 

Ttks' Through all the wild border his steed was the 
best; 
Aud save his £ood broadsword In weapons had 
nunc; 
He rode all unarmed and he rode all alone. 
So faithful in love, and SO dauntless in war. 

There never was knighl like the young Lochinvar. 

Ill- staid net fur brake, and In- stopped nol for stone; 

llr swam ili.- Eske river where ford there was none; 

But, ere he alighted al Netherby gate, 

The hrid. ■ had consented,— the gallant came late; 

Fur a laggard in love, and a dastard in war. 

Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. 

So bcldly he entered the Netherby hall. 

Anion.: bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and 



Then spoke the bride's father, hi- hand on hi- sword,— 

For tin- 1 r craven bridegroom -aid never ;> word,— • 

..- ye in peace here, or come ye in war. 
Or in dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar? " 

•■ 1 long wooed your daughter; — my -nit you denied : 
Love swells 1 i K- - the Solway, but ebb- like it- tide; 

And nov 1 ne, wiib ihi- losl love of mine 

To lead but one measure, — drink one cup of wine. 
Tin-re be ma id. -ii- in Scotland, more lovely by far. 
That would gladly in- bride to the young Lochinvar." 

The iii-id,- kissed the goblet ; the knight took it up; 
11 quaffed off the w in,-, and he threw down tin- cup; 
sin- l. inked down I., blush, ami -In- looked up to sigh, 
Willi a -mile on her lip. and a tear in her eye; 
He took her -oft hand en- ln-r mother could bar. — 
"Now tread we a measure! " said young Lochinvar. 



302 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



So stately his form and so lovely her face. 
That never a hall such a galliard did grace ; 
While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, 
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and 

plume, 
And the bridemaidens whispered, " 'twere better by 

far, 
To have matched our fair cousin with young Loch- 
invar." 

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, 
When they reached the hall door, where the charger 

stood near; 
So light to the croup the fair lady he swung, 
So light to the saddle before her he sprung ; — 



"She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and 

scaur; 
They '11 have fleet steeds that follow! " quoth young 

Lochinvar. 

There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby 

clan; 
Fosters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they 

ran; 
Thei'e was racing and chasing on Cannobie lea, 
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. 
So daring in love, and so dauntless in war; 
Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar? 

Sir Walter Scott. 



THE CLOSING YEAR, 



§|i|flS midnight's holy hour — and silence now 
siHs Is brooding, like a gentle spirit, o'er 

2K The still and pulseless world. Hark! on the 

.4. winds 



T 



winds 
The bell's deep notes are swelling 

knell 
Of the departed year. 



'Tis the 



No funeral train 
Is sweeping past; yet on the stream and wood, 
With melancholy light, the moonbeams rest, 
Like a pale, spotless shroud; the air is stirred, 
As by a mourner's sigh; and on yon cloud, 
That floats so still and placidly through heaven, 
The spirits of the seasons seem to stand — 
Young spring, bright summer, autumn's solemn form, 
And winter with his aged locks — and breathe 
In mournful cadences, that course abroad 
Like the far wind-harp's wild and touching wail, 
A melancholy dirge o'er the dead year, 
Gone from the earth forever. 

'Tis a time 
For memory and for tear». Within the deep 
Still chambers of the heart, a spectre dim, 
Whose tones are like the wizard voice of Time, 
Heard from the tomb of ages, points its cold 
And solemn finger to the beautiful 
And holy visions that have passed away 
And left no shadow of their loveliness 
On the dead waste of Life. That spectre lifts 
The coffin-lid of hope, and joy, and love, 
And, bending mournfully above the pale 
Sweet forms that slumber there, scatters dead flowers 
O'er what has passed to nothingness. 



The year 
Has gone, and, with it, many a glorious throng 
Of happy dreams. Its mark is on each brow, 



Its shadow in each heart. In its swift course, 

It waved its sceptre o'er the beautiful, 

And they are not. It laid its pallid hand 

Upon the strong man, and the haughty form 

Is fallen, and the flashing eye is dim. 

It trod the hall of revelry, where thronged 

The bright and joyous, and the tearful wail 

Of stricken ones is heard, where erst the song 

And reckless shout resounded. It passed o'er 

The battle-plain, where sword, and spear, and shield 

Flashed in the light of mid-day — and the strength 

Of seiTied hosts is shivered, and the grass, 

Green from the soil of carnage, waves above 

The crushed and mouldering skeleton. It came 

And faded like a wreath of mist at eve ; 

Yet, ere it melted in the viewless air, 

It heralded its millions to their home 

In the dim land of dreams. 

Remorseless Time: — 
Fiei-ce spirit of the glass and scythe ! — what power 
Can stay him in his silent course, or melt 
His iron heart to pity? On, still on 
He presses, and for-ever. The proud bird, 
The condor of the Andes, that can soar 
Through heaven's unfathomable depths, or brave 
The fury of the northern hurricane 
And bathe his plumage in the thunder's home, 
Furls his broad wings at nightfall, and sinks down 
To rest upon his mountain-crag — but Time 
Knows not the weight of sleep or weariness, 
And night's deep darkness has no chain to bind 
His rushing pinion. Revolutions sweep 
O'er earth, like troubled visions o'er the breast 
Of dreaming sorrow ; cities rise and sink, 
Like bubbles on the water ; fiery isles 
Spring, blazing, from the ocean, and go back 
To their mysterious caverns ; mountains rear 
To heaven their bald and blackened cliffs, ar-- 1 , bow 



DESCRIPTION AND NARRATION". 



303 



Tli''ir tall heads to the plain : new empires li 
Gathering the strength oi hoarj centuries, 
And rush down like the Alpine avalanche-. 
Startling the nations; and the verj stars, 
Yon bright and burning blazonrj of God, 
Glitter awhile in their eternal depths, 
And. like the Pleiad. Loveliest oi their train. 



Shoot from their glorious spheres, and pass away. 
To darkle in the trackless void: yet Time, 

Time tin- tomb-huilder. hold- hi- tierce career. 
Dark. Btern, all-pitiless, and pauses not 
Amid tin- mighty wrecks that strew his path. 
To -n and muse, like other conquerors, 
iif fearful ruin he has wrought 

I .1 "K'.l I'. I'Ki-.NTICI . 



Till; CLOSING S( ENE. 



.. 



TTniN the sober realms oi leafless n -. 

\ The russet year inhaled the dreamy air; 

Like Borne tanned reaper, in hie hour "i ease, 

When all the fields an- lj Lng brow n and hare. 



The gray barns looking from their bazj hill-. 

O'er the dun water- widening in tin- rales, 
Sent down the ail- a greeting i" the mills 

On the dull thunder "I alternate flails. 

All sights were mellowed and all Bounds subdued; 

The hiiN seemed farther and the stream sang low, 
A- in a dream the distant woodman hewed 

Hi- winter log with main a muffled blow. 

Tin- embattled forests, erew hile armed w Ith gold, 
Their banners bright w Ith even martial hue. 

Now stood like - -ad. beaten host of old, 

Withdrawn afar in Time's remotest blue. 

On slumb'rous wings the vulture held its flight; 

The dove Beard heard it- sighing mate"- complaint ; 
And. like a star Blow drow Ding In the light, 

The village church-vane seemed t" pale and faint. 

The sentinel-cock upon the hillside crew, 

crew thrice,— and all was -tiller than before; 
silent, till some replying warden blew 

His alien horn, and then wa- heard in. in. .re. 

When- erst the jay. within the elm-, kill crest, 
.Made garrulous trouble round her unfledged young; 

And when- the oriole hung her sw a\ ing u. -I. 
By every light wind like a censer -wung;— 

Where sang the lioi-y marten- of the eave.. 

The busy swallows circling ever near,— 
Foreboding, as the rustic mind believes, 

An early harvest and a plenteous year;— 

Where every bird which charmed the vernal feast 

Shook the sweet .-lumber from it- win-- ai morn, 
To warn the reaper of the rosy east. — 
All now was sunless, empty, and forlorn. 



Alone fr..m ..lit the -rubble piped the quail. 

And croaked the crow through all the dreamy 
gloom ; 
Alone the pheasant, drumming in the vale, 
Mad.- echo to the distant cottage-loom. 

There wa- no l.ud. 00 bloom upon the bowers; 

'Hi.- spiders moved their thin shrouds night by 
night, 
The thistledown, the onlj ghost of flowers, 
Bailed -lowly bj - passed noiseless out ■•! sight. 

Amid all thi- — in this most cheerless air. 

And where the « Ibine -led upon the porch 

It- crimson leaves, a- it the \ ear - 1 there 

Tiring the floor with hi- inverted torch,— 

Amid all thi-. the centre of the -eene. 
The white-haired matron with monotonous tread 

I 'li'd tie- -wilt Wheel, a lid W till h'T j"\ l>-- lldetl 

Sat, like a late, and watched tin- flying thread. 

She had known Sorrow,— In- had walked w ith her, 

< >ft -upped. and broke the bitter ashen crust ; 

And in lie- dead leaves -till -he heard lie- -lir 

Of his black mantle trailing in tie- dust 

While yet ler cheek was bright w ith summer bloom, 

Her countrj summoned, and -in- gave her all: 
And twice War bowed !■• her his -able plumi — 

l; -gave the sWOrdS to rUSt upon the wall: 

Re-gave the -word-, but not tin- hand that drew 
\h.| struck for Liberty the dj ing blow; 

Nor him who. to hi- -ire and ntry true. 

Fell mid the rank- ..f the invading foe. 

Long, hut not 1 1, the droning w heel went on. 

Like tie- i,.w murmur of a hive at i i: 

I.oii":. hut not loud, the memory of the gone 
Breathed through her lips a sad and tremulous tune. 

At la-t the thread wa- -napped; her head was bowed ; 

Life dropped the distaff through his hands serene; 
And loving neighbors smoothed her careful shroud. 

"While Death and Winter closed the autumn scene. 
Thomas Buchanan Read. 



O— 



'604: 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 

[This tribute appeared in the London " Punch." which, up to the time of the assassination of Mr. Lincoln, had ridiculed and 
maligned him with all its well-known powers cf pen and pencil.] 



)U lay a wreath on murdered Lincoln's bier, 
You, who with mocking pencil wont to trace, 

Broad lor the sell-complacent British sneer. 
His length ol shambling limb, his furrowed 
face, 

His gaunt, gnarled hands, his unkempt, bristling hair, 
His garb uncouth, his bearing ill at ease, 

His lack of all we prize as debonair, 
Of power or will to shine, of art to please ; 

Tou, whose smart pen backed up the pencil's laugh, 
Judging each step as though the way were plain, 

Reckless, so it could point its paragraph 
Of chief's perplexity, or people's pain : 

Beside this corpse, that bears for winding-sheet 
The Stars and Stripes he lived to rear anew, 

Between the mourners at his head and feet, 
Say, scurrile jester, is there room lor you ? 

Yes : he had lived to shame me Irom my sneer, 
To lame my pencil, and confute my pen; 

To make me own this hind of princes peer, 
This rail-splitter a true-born king of men. 

My shallow judgment I had learned to rue, 
Noting how to occasion's height he rose; 

How his quaint wit made home-truth seem more true ; 
How, iron-like, his temper grew by blows. 

How humble, yet how hopeful, he could be; 

How, in good lortune and in ill, the same; 
Nor bitter in success, nor boastiul he, 

Thirsty for gold, nor feverish for fame. 

He went about his work, — such work as few 
Ever had laid on head and heart and hand, 

As one who knows, where there 's a task to do, 
Man's honest will must heaven's good grace com- 
mand ; 

Who trusts the strength will with the burden grow, 
That God makes instruments to work his will, 

If but that will we can arrive to know, 
Nor tamper with the weights of good and ill. 



So he went forth to battle, on the side 
That he felt clear was Liberty's and Right's, 

As in his peasant boyhood he had plied 
His warfare with rude Nature's thwarting mights ; 

The uncleared forest, the unbroken soil, 
The iron-bark, that turns the lumberer's ax, 

The rapid, that o'erbears the boatman's toil, 
The prairie, hiding the mazed wanderer's tracks, 

The ambushed Indian, and the prowling bear, — 
Such were the deeds that helped his youth to train: 

Rough culture, but such trees large fruit may bear, 
If but their stocks be ol right girth and grain. 

So he grew up, a destined work to do, 
And lived to do it; lour long-suffering j'ears' 

HI late, ill reeling, ill report, lived through, 
And then he heard the hisses change to cheers, 

The taunts to tribute, the abuse to praise, 

And took both with the same unwavering mood; 

Till, as he came on light, from darkling days, 
And seemed to touch the goal from where he stood, 

A felon hand, between the goal and him, 
Reached from behind his back, a trigger prest, 

And those perplexed and patient eyes were dim, 
Those gaunt, long-laboring limbs were laid to rest! 

The words ol mercy were upon his lips, 
Forgiveness in his heart and on his pen, 

When this vile murderer brought swilt eclipse 
To thoughts ol peace on earth, good-will to men. 

The Old World and the New, Irom sea to sea, 
Utter one voice ol sympathy and shame : 

Sore heart, so stopped when it at last beat high; 
Sad*life, cut short just as its triumph came! 

A deed accurst ! Strokes have been struck before 
By the assassin's hand, whereof men doubt 

H more ol horror or disgrace they bore ; 
But thy toul crime, like Cain's, stands darkly out, 

Vile hand, that brandest murder on a strile, 
Whate'er its grounds, stoutly and nobly striven; 

And with the martyr's crown crownest a life 
With much to praise, little to be forgiven. 

Tom Taylor. 



>>»<=fS=XK° 



IK GOOD name is properly that reputation of virtue that every man may challenge 
illll as his right and due in the opinions of others, till he has made forfeit of it by 
the viciousness of his actions. 



PLACES AXD PERSONS. 




Y.YKROW UNVISITKP. 



ijROM Stirling Castle wo had seen 

» The mazy Forth unraveled; 

J Had tnnl the banks of Clyde and Tay, 
And with the Tweed had traveled; 
And when we came to • Hovenford, 
Then said my • winsome marrow ." 
" Whate'er betide, we'll hum aside, 
And see the braes of Yarrow." 



•• Let Yarrow folk, frae Selkirk town, 

Who have been buying, selling, 

Go back to Yarrow, 'tis their own; 

Each maiden to her dwelling! 

On Yarrow's banks let herons feed, 

Hares COUCh, and rabbits burrow! 

But we will downward with the Tweed. 

Nor turn aside to Yarrow. 



THE EOYAL GALLERY. 



" There's Galla Water, Leader Haughs, 

Both lying right before us ; 

And Dryborough, where with chiming Tweed 

The lintwhites sing in chorus ; 

Thei-e's pleasant Teviotdale, a land 

Made blithe with plough and harrow: 

Why throw away a needful day 

To go in search of Yarrow? 



" Let beeves and homebred kine partake 
The sweets of Burn-mill meadow; 
The swan on still Sainc Mary's Lake 
Float double, swan and shadow! 
We will not see them ; will not go 
To-day, nor yet to-morrow; 
Enough, if in our hearts we know 
There's such a place as Yarrow. 



" What's Yarrow but a river bare, 

That glides the dark hills under? 

There are a thousand such elsewhere 

As worthy of your wonder." 

Strange words they seemed of slight and scorn; 

My true-love sighed for sorrow, 

And looked me in the face, to think 

I thus could speak of Yax-row ! 



" Be Yarrow stream unseen, unknown! 
It must, or we shall rue it: 
We have a vision of our own ; 
Ah ! why should we undo it? 
The treasured dreams of times long past, 
We'll keep them, winsome marrow-! 
For when we're there, although 'tis fair, 
'Twill be another Yarrow ! 



" O, green," said I, " are Yarrow's holms, 
And sweet is Yarrow flowing ! 
Fair hangs the apple frae the rock, 
But we will leave it growing. 
O'er hilly path, and open strath*, 
We'll wander Scotland thorough ; 
But, though so near, we will not turn 
Into the dale of Yarrow. 



u If care with freezing years should come, 
And wandering seem but folly, — 
Should we be loath to stir from home, 
And yet be melancholy, — 
Should life be dull, and spirits low, 
'Twill soothe us in our sorrow. 
That earth has something yet to show, 
The bonny holms of Yarrow ! " 

William Wordsworth. 



YARROW VISITED. 



E^ND is this Yarrow ! — this the stream 
It Of which my fancy cherished 
2 So faithfully, a waking dream? 

An image that hath perished! 
O that some minstrel's harp were near, 
To utter notes of gladness, 
And chase this silence from the air, 
That fills my heart with sadness. 



Where was it that the famous flower 
Of Yarrow Vale lay bleeding? 
His bed perchance was yon smooth mc 
On which the herd is feeding: 
And haply from this crystal pool, 
Now peaceful as the morning, 
The water-wraith ascended thrice, 
And gave his doleful warning. 



Yet why?- a silvery current flows 

With uncontrolled meanderings; 

!Nor have these eyes by greener hills 

Been soothed, -in all my wanderings. 

And, through her depths, Saint Mary's Lake 

Is visibly delighted ; 

For not a feature of those hills 

Is in the mirror slighted. 



Delicious is the lay that sings 

The haunts of happy lovers, 

The path that leads them to the grove, 

The leafy grove that covers : 

And pity sanctifies the verse 

That paints, by strength of sorrow, 

The unconquerable strength of love; 

Bear witness, rueful Yarrow ! 



A blue sky bends o'er Yarrow Yale, 

Save where that pearly whiteness 

Is round the rising sun diffused, 

A tender hazy brightness ; 

Mild dawn of promise ! that excludes 

All profitless dejection; 

Though not unwilling here to admit 

A pensive recollection. 



But thou, that didst appear so fair 

To fond imagination, 

Dost rival in the light of day 

Her delicate creation : 

Meek loveliness is round thee spread, 

A softness still and holy ; 

The grace of forest charms decayed, 

And pastoral melancholy. 



PL \< I.- \M 



307 



Thai region left, the rale unfolds 
Bleb groves ol loftj stature, 

Willi Yarn>w \% imli iil: through the pomp 

Of cultivated nature; 

And, rising from those Loftj groves, 

Behold a nun boarj ! 

The shattered front of Newark's towers, 

Renowned in border Btorj . 

Fair scenes for childh I'- opening bloom, 

For sportive youth to straj in; 

For manhood !•■ enjoj hi- strength; 

And age to wear awaj in! 

Yon cottage seems :i bower of bliss, 

It promises protection 

To Btudlohs ease, and generous cares, 

Ami everj chaste affection ! 

How Bweel on this autumnal da; 
The wild wood's fruits to gather, 
Ami ..li in\ true-love's forehead plant 
A crest of blooming heather! 



Vmi what ii J enwreathi >l mj ..w .. I 
' lw.ro no offence i" reason ; 
'lli. sober hill- thus deck their brows 
T.. meet the « inm geason. 

i see i. hi not bj Bight alone, 

Loved VaiTi.u . have I won thee; 

A raj "i fancj still sun i'.. 

Her sunshine plaj - upon thee! 

Thj ever j 0111111111 waters k. ep 

A course ..l livelj pleasure; 

An. I gladsome aotes m . lips ■ a breathe, 

\ lant to Hi. in. asure. 

The vapors linger round the heights, 

Th'-;. melt and n -1 vanish ; 

One hour i- theirs, in re i- mine 

Sad thought! which I would banish. 
Mm that I kn..\\. where'er I go, 
i > arrow ! 

Will dwell with me— to heighten joy, 
Ami cheer mj miud in sorrow . 

U ILL! \M W OUDSM OKI H. 



VAUIiuW STREAM. 



banks were bonnie, Yarrow stream, 
When Bret on thee 1 met mj lover; 
Thy banks how dreary, Yarrow stream 
When now tin waves bis bodj cov< 1 .' 



lli- mother from the w Indow I 
\\ iih ill the longing 1 a mother; 
lli- litii in,', walked 

enwood path to meet her brother. 



Forever now, Yarrow stream, 
Thou art to me a stream ot Borrow : 
For never on thj hank- -hall I 
Behold my love -the flower ol Yarrow 



Thej sought him east, thej sought him west, 

Thej sought him all the forest thorough; 

Thej onlj -aw the clouds of night — 

Thej only beard the roar of Yarrow ! 



He promised me a milk-white horse, 
To hear me i" hi- father's bowers; 
lie promised me a little page, 
To squire me to hi- father's towers. 

Be promised mo a wedding-ring, 
The wedding-daj was fixed to-morrow: 
Now ho i< wedded to his grave, 
Ala-! a watery grave in Yarrow ! 

Sweet were hi- words when last we met, 
Mj passion 1 a- freelj told him: 
Clasped in hi- arms, I little thought 

Thai I should n. -vor more behold him. 



l r from thy window look 

Tl hast no son, thou tender mother] 

No longer walk, thou lovelj maid — 

Ala-! thOU bast no mop- a broth, t ! 

No longer seek him east or west, 
\,, longer search Hi.- forest thorough, 
For. murdered in the night -" .lark, 
II.- lies a lifeless corpse in Yarrow! 

The tears -hall never leave mj cheek, 
\ ither youth -hall be my marrow; 
I'll -.-ok thy body in the stream, 
An. I there with thee I'll -1"<-|> in Yarrow! 



Scarce was ho gone, I saw hi- ghost — 
It vanished with a shriek of sorrow; 
Thrice .li.l th.' water-wraith a-. •.•ml. 
And give a doleful groan through Yarrow! 



Tin- tear .li.l never leave her .hook. 
No other j oiMh became her marrow; 
She found bis body in the stream, 
And with him uow she -Lop- in Yarrow. 

.lot in Logan. 



308 



THE ROYAL GALLERY 



MELROSE ABBEY. 



thou wouldst view fair Melrose aright, 
Go visit it by the pale moonlight ; 
For the gay beams of lightsome day 
Gild, but to flout, the ruins gray. 
When the broken arches are black in night, 
And each shafted oriel glimmers white : 
When the cold light's uncertain shower 
Streams on the ruined central tower ; 
When buttress and buttress, alternately, 



Seem framed of ebon and ivory ; 

When silver edges the imagery. 

And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die ; 

When distant Tweed is heard to rave, 

And the owlet to hoot o'er the dead man's grave, 

Then go — but go alone the while — 

Then view St. David's ruined pile; 

And, home returning, soothly swear, 

Was never scene so sad and fair ! 



Sir Walter Scott. 




jite, 



FAIR GREECE ! SAD RELIC OF DEPARTED WORTH. 



lAIR Greece! sad relic of departed worth! 

I Immortal though no more ; though fallen, great ! 
Who now shall lead thy fallen children forth, 
And long accustomed bondage uncreate? 
Not such thy sons who whilome did await, 



The hopeless warriors of a willing doom, 
In bleak Thermopylae's sepulchral strait, — 
O, who that gallant spirit shall resume, 
Leap from Eurota's banks, and call thee from the 
tomb? 

Lord Byron. 



THE INCHCAPE ROCK. 



pjO stir in the air, no stir in the sea, — 
The ship was as still as she could be ; 
Her sails from heaven received no motion ; 
Her keel was steady in the ocean. 

Without either sign or sound of their shock, 
The waves flowed over the Inchcape rock ; 
So little they rose, so little they fell, 
They did not move the Inchcape bell. 

The Holy Abbot of Aberbrothok 
Had placed that bell on the Inchcape rock ; 
On a buoy in the storm it floated and swung, 
And over the waves its warning rung. 

When the rock was hid by the surges' swell, 
The mariners heard the warning bell ; 
And then they knew the perilous rock, 
And blessed the Abbot of Aberbrothok. 



The sun in heaven was shining gay, — 

All things were joyful on that day; 

The sea-birds screamed as they wheeled around, 

And there was joyance in their sound. 

The buoy of the Inchcape bell was seen, 
A darker speck on the ocean green ; 
Sir Ralph, the rover, walked his deck, 
And he fixed his eye on the darker speck. 

He felt the cheering power of spring, — 
It made him whistle, it made him sing; 
His heart was mirthful to excess; 
But the rover's mirth was wickedness. 

His eye was on the bell and float : 
Quoth he, "My men, put out the boat; 
And row me to the Inchcape rock. 
And I'll plague the priest of Aberbrothok." 



] i. M T.s AND PERSONS. 



309 



The boat is lowered, the boatmen row, 
And to ili. 1 [nchcape rock they go; 
Sir Ralph * » < - 1 > t over from the boat, 
And <ui the warning bell from the float 

Dowi sank the beU with a gurgling sound; 

The bubbles rose, and burs) around. 

Quoth sir Ralph, " The nexl who comes to the 

nick 
Will not i,l.— Hi.' m.Im.i ..t Aberbrothok." 

Sir Ralph, Hi.' rover, sailed away. — 
H, ■ scoured the seas tor many a day; 
And QOW,grown rich with plundered Btore, 
He steers hi- our-.- to Scotland's shore. 



Quoth Sir Ralph, ••!' will be lighter soon, 
For there is the dawn .>t the rising moon." 

"Canst hear," -aid one, •• the breakers roar? 
For yonder, methinks, should be the shore. 
Now where we an- I cannot tell, 
Bui 1 wish we could bear the [nchcape belL" 

They hear no sound; the Bwell i< Btrong; 
Though the wind hath fallen, they drift along 
Till tli.- vessel Btrikes with a shivering shock, 
U Christ! it i- the [nchcape rockl 

Sir Ralph, the rover, tore hi- hair; 
11.- cursed hiiu-.li in bis despair. 




• r ound "i their <hnck, 
the Inchca] 



So thick a ha/r o'erspreads Hi. 1 sky 

They cannot .-,■,■ tin- -mi on high; 

The wind hath blow n a gale all dav. 
At evening it hath died away. 

On the deck the rover takes his -laud: 
So dark it is they see no land. 



The waves rush in very -ide; 

Ihe ship is -inkiiiLT beneath the tide. 

Bui ever in his dying fear 
One dreadful -ound he seemed to hear,— 
A -ound a- it with the [nchcape hell 
The Devil below was ringing his knell. 

ROISEKT SOITHEY. 



CAPE HATTER AS. 



>IIK Wind King from the North came down. 
5 Nor stopped by river, mount or town: 

But, like a boisterous ^od at play. 

Resistless, bounding on his way. 

He shook the lake and tore the wood. 



And flapped his wings in merry mood, 
Nor furled them, till he spied afar 
The white caps llash on Hattcras bar. 
Where fierce Atlantic landward bowls 
O'er treacherous sands and hidden shoals. 



310 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



He paused, then wreathed his horn of o. 
And Mew defiance long and loud : 
"Come up! come up, thou torrid god, 

That rul'st the Southern sea! 
Ho ! lightning-eyed and thunder-shod, 

Come wrestle here with me ! 
As tossest thou the tangled cane, 
I '11 hurl thee o'er the boiling main! 



He drew his lurid legions forth, 

And sprang to meet the -white-plumed North. 

Can mortal tongue in song convey 
The fury of that fearful fray? 
How ships were splintered at a blow,# 
Sails shivered into shreds of snow, 
And seamen hurled to death below! 




'The Wind King from the North came do 

But like a bui^lcrmis pod at play, 
Resistless, bounding on his way, 
He shook the lake and tore the wood, 
And flapped his wings in merry mood." 



"Come up! come up, thou torrid god, 
Thou lightning-eyed and thunder-shod, 

And wrestle here with me! " 
'T was heard and answered : k 'Lo! I come 

From azure Carribee, 
To drive thee cowering to thy home, 
And melt its walls of frozen foam." 
From every isle and mountain dell, 
From plains of pathless chaparral. 
From tide-buiit bars, where sea-birds dwell, 



Two gods commingling, bolt and blast, 
The huge waves on each other cast, 
And bellowed o'er the raging waste; 
Then sped, like harnessed steeds, afar, 
That drag a shattered battle-car 
Amid the midnight din of war! 

False Hatteras ! when the cyclone came, 
Thy waves leapt up with hoarse acclaim 
And ran and wrecked yon argosy! 



i-]..\i n,a .\.\i> 



Fore'er nine sank! that lone hulk stands 

Embedded in thy yellow sands,— 

An hundred hearts in death there stilled, 

Ami yet it- i'ii)-. wiili corpses filled, 
Are dow caressed by thee! 

You lipless ~K.nl l -hall speak for me, 
"This i- ill'' Golgotha of the sea! 
Ami it- keen hunger i- the Bame 
In winter's frost or summer's flame! 
When life was young, adventure sweet, 
I came with Walter Raleigh's fleet, 
Hut here m\ scattered bones have lain 
An. I bleached forages by the main! 



Thougb Lonely on© . strange 1 ■ ■ 1 k have come, 

Till peopled i- my barren home. 

Enough are here. Oh, heed the crj . 

Ye white-winged strangers Bailing by! 

The bark that Lingers mi this wave 

Will And it- smiling I'm a gravel 

Then, tardy mariner, turn ami flee, 

A myriad wrecks are "ti thy lee! 

With swelling -ail ami sloping mast, 

Accept kind Beaven's propitious blast! 

Oship. -ail '.n! ship, -ail fa-t. 

Till, Golgotha's quicksands being past, 
Thou gain's! tin- open sea at Last! " 

Josiab w . Bolden. 



THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE. 



a drum was heard, not a funeral note, 
A- hi- corse tn the rampart we hurried: 
Mil t discharged hi- farewell shot 
O'er tin- grave where our hero we buried. 

We buried him darkly at dead hi" night, 
The -"il- with "in- bayonets turning; 

By tin- struggling moonbeam's misty light. 
And the lantern dimly burning. 

No useless coffin enclosed hi- breast, 
' Nor in sheet or in shroud we wound him; 
But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, 
With his martial cloak around him. 

Few and short were the prayers we said. 
And we spoke not a word of Borrow, 

Bm we steadfastly gazed on the tan- . u the dead. 
And we bitterly thought of the morrow. 



We thought, a- we hollowed his narrow bed, 

Ami smoothed down hi- lonely pillow. 
That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his 

head, 
And we far away un the billow. 

Lightly they '11 talk of the spirit that's gone, 

Ami o'er hi- 'old a-ln-- upbraid him: 

But little he'll ink if they let him sleep mi 

In tin- grave « lure a Briton ha- laid him. 

But half of our heavy task was done, 

When the clock Btruck tin' hour for retiring; 

And we heard tin- distanl and random gun 
That the foe wa- SlUlenlj firing. 

Slowly and sadly we laid him down 

From the field "t hi- fame fresh and gory; 
We carved not a line, we raised not 
But we left him alone w Lth hi- glory] 

' i' >"' • a Wolfe. 



CHARLES XII OF SWEDEN. 



what foundation stands the warrior's pride, 

T_ How just his hopes, let Swedish Charles decide ; 
A frame Of adamant, a soul of fire. 
No danger- fright him. and no labors tire; 
O'er love, o'er fear, extend- hi- wide domain. 
tJnconquered lord of pleasure and of pain; 
No joys t" him pacific sceptres yield. 
War Bounds the trump, he rashes to the field: 
Behold surrounding kings their powers combine. 
And one capitulate, and one resign; 
Peace courts his hand, but spreads her charms in vain: 
"Think nothing gained, ' , he cries, ; 'till naught re- 
main. 
On Moscow's walls till Gothic standards fly, 
And all be mine beneath the polar sky." 
The march begins in military state, 
And nations on his eye suspended wait: 



Stern Famine guards the solitary coast, 
And Winter barricades the realms oi I rost ; 
He comes, nor want nor cold his com-' delay; — 
Hide, blushing Glorj . bide Pultowa's day : 
The vanquished hero Leaves his broken bands, 
And shows his miseries in distant lands; 

Condemned a o ly supplicant to wait, 

While ladies interpose and -lave- debate, 
But did not ('bailee at length her error mend? 
Did no subverted empire mark his end? 
Did rival monarchs give the fatal wound, 
Or hostile millions press him to the ground? 
His fall was destined to a barren strand. 
A petty fortress, and a dubious hand; 
He left the name at which the world grew paic, 
To point a moral, or adorn a tale. 

Samuel Johnson. 



312 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



ON LEAVING THE WEST. 



IE WELL, ye soft and sumptuous solitudes ! 
Ye fairy distances, ye lordly woods, 
Haunted by paths like those that Poussin 

knew, 
When after his all gazers' eyes he drew: 
I go — and if I never more may steep 
An eager heart in your enchantments deep, 



A tender blessing lingers 6'er the scene, 
Like some young mother's thought, fond, yet 
And through its life new-born our lives have been 
Once more, farewell — a sad, a sweet farewell; 
And if I never must behold you more, 
In other worlds I will not cease to tell 
The rosary I here have numbered o'er; 




"Farewell, ye soft and sumptuous solitudes! 
Ye fairy distances, ye lordly woods." 



Yet ever to itself that heart may say, 

He not exacting— thou hast lived one day — 

Hast looked on that which matches with thy mood, 

Impassioned sweetness of full being's flood, 

Where nothing checked the bold yet gentle wave, 

Wbere naught repelled the lavish love that gave. 



And bright-haired Hope will lend a gladdened ear, 
And Love will free him from the grasp of Fear, 
And Gorgon critics, while the tale they hear, 
Shall dew their stony glances with a tear, 
If I but catch one echo from your spell : 
And so farewell — a grateful, sad farewell! 

Margaret Fuller, 



]']. M i:s AND PERSONS. 



3ia 



THE KNIGHT'S TOMB. 



t&*z': Where may the grave of that good man be? — 
*52§3§$ By the side of a spring, on the brcasl oi II' 1- 
vellyn, 
Under the twig- oi a young birch-tree I 
The oak that in summer was sweet to hear. 



And rustled its leaves in the fall of the year. 
And whistled and roared in the winter alone, 
I- gone ,— and the birch in Its stead is grown. 
The knight's bones are dust, 
Aud his good sword rust; — 
His soul is with the saints, 1 trust 

Samuel Taylob Coleridge, 




COLUMBUS. 



MUM'- was :l ,1,: " 1 "horn danger could not daunt, 
'i*-K Nor sophistry perplex, nor pain subdue, 
$V A stoic, reckless of the world's vain taunt, 

And steeled the path of honor to pursue; 

So. when by all deserted, still he knew 
How best to soothe the heart-sick, or confront 
Sedition, schooled with equal eye to view 
The frowns of grief, and the base pangs of want. 



But when he saw that promised land arise 

In all its rare and bright varieties, 

Lovelier than fondest fancy ever trod; 

Then softening nature melted in his c\ es ; 

He knew his lame was full, and blessed his God; 

Aud fell upon his face, and kissed the virgin sod! 

Sir Aubrey De Vere, 



314 



THE ROYAL GALLEEY. 



TO THOMAS MOORE. 



jY boat is on the shore, 
i> And my bark is on the sea; 
« But before I go, Tom Moore, 
Here's a double health to thee ! 

Here's a sigh to those who love me 
And a smile to those who hate ; 

And, whatever sky's above me, 
Here's a heart for any fate. 

Though the ocean roar around me, 
Yet it still shall bear me on ; 



Though a desert should surround me, 
It hath springs that may be won. 

Were 't the last drop in the well, 

As 1 gasped upon the brink, 
Ere my fainting spirit fell, 

'T is to thee that I would drink. 

With that water, as this wine, 

The libation I would pour 
Should be — peace to thine and mine, 

And a health to thee, Tom Moore. 

Lord Byron. 



TO VICTOR HUGO. 



|ICTOR in poesy ! Victor in romance ! 
Cloud-weaver of phantasmal hopes and fears! 
French of the French, and lord of human tears! 
Child-lover, bard, whose fame-lit laurels glance, 
Darkening the wreaths of all that would ad- 
vance 
Beyond our strait their claim to be thy peers ! 
Weird Titan, by thy wintry weight of years 



As yet unbroken ! Stormy voice of France, 
Who does not love our England, so they say; 
I know not! England, France, all men to be, 
Will make one people, ere man's race be run; 
And I, desiring that diviner day, 
Yield thee full thanks for thy full courtesy 
To younger England, in the boy, my son. 

Alfred Tennyson. 



MAZZINI. 



IIP LIGHT is out in Italy, 
1PP|, A golden tongue of purest flame; 
^^" We watched it burning, long and lone, 
I] And every watcher knew its name, 

And knew from whence its fervor came : 

That one rare light of Italy, 
Which put self-seeking souls to shame! 

This light which burnt for Italy, 
Through all the blackness of her night, 

She doubted once upon a time, 
Because it took away her sight; 

She looked and said, "There is no light! ' 
It was thine eyes, poor Italy? 

That knew not dark apart from bright. 



This flame which burnt for Italy, 
It would not let her haters sleep ; 

They blew at it with angry breath, 
And only fed its upward leap, 

An 1 only made it hot and deep ; 
Its burning showed us Italy, 

And all the hopes she had to keep. 

This light is out in Italy, 
Her eyes shall seek for it in vain ! 

For her sweet sake it spent itself, 
Too early flickering to its wane — 

Too long blown over by her pain. 
Bow down and weep, O Italy, 

Thou canst not kindle it again ! 

Laura C. Eedden (Howard Glyndon). 



BYRON. 



|E touched his harp, and nations heard, entranced. 
As some vast river of unfailing source, 
Bapid, exhaustless, deep, his numbers flowed, 
And oped new fountains in the human heart. 
Where Fancy halted, weary in her flight, 
In other men, his, fresh as morning, rose, 
And soared untrodden heights, and seemed at 
home 
Where angels bashful looked. Others, though great, 
Beneath their argument seemed struggling whiles ; 



He from above descending stooped to touch 

The loftiest thought ; and proudly stooped, as though 

It scarce deserved his verse. With Nature's self 

He seemed an old acquaintance, free to jest 

At will with all her glorious majesty. 

He laid his hand upon " the ocean's mane," 

And played familiar with his hoary locks ; 

Stood on the Alps, stood on the Apennines, 

And with the thunder talked, as friend to friend; 

And wove his garland of the lightning's wing, 



PLACES AND PEBSONS. 



315 



la sportive twist, Che lightning's fiery wiug. 
Which, as the footsteps of the dreadful God, 
Marching upon the storm in vengeance, seemed; 
Then turued, and with the grasshopper, who sung 
His evening sung beneath bis feet, conversed. 
Bans, moon-, and stars and clouds, bis sisters were; 
Bocks, mountains, meteors, seas and « inds and storms 
His brothers, younger brothers, whom he scarce 
As equals deemed, ah passions of all men, 
The wild and lame, the gentle and severe; 
All thoughts, all maxims, sacred and profane; 



All creeds, all seasons, time, eternity; 
All that was haied, and all that was dear; 
All that was boped, all that was feared, bj man; 
II,- tossed :ii.. .ut. a- tempest-withered leaves, 
Then, smiling, Looked upon the wreck he made. 
With terror now he froze the cowering blood, 
Aud now dissolved the heart in tenderness; 
Yet would not tremble, would uol weep himself; 
But back into hi- -.id retired, alone, 
Dark, sullen, pro s ratemptuously 

On hearts and passions prostrate at hi- feet. 

Robert Foll*k. 



AT TIIK TOMli oK I'A 1;<>X. 



/ \ M \STER! here I bow before a shrine; 

?VJ/. IJeloie the lordlie-l « 1 1 1 — I that ever Vet 
Moved animate in human form divine. 

Lol dust indeed t.. dust. The mould i- -.-t 
Above thee, and the ancienl walls are wet, 

And drip all day in .lank and silent gloom, 

As if the cold graj 3tones could not forget 
Thy great estate shrunk t.> this sombre room, 
But learn to weep perpetual tears above thy tomb. 

Through broken panes I bear the -el iboj - shout, 

I -.e the black-winged engines sweep and pass, 
Aud from the peopled narrow plot without, 
Well grown with brier, moss, and heaving [ 
I -.■.• the Abbey In. .in an ivied uia--. 
Made eloquent of faiths, <.t fates i" be, 

Of er 1-, and perished kings; and -till, alas, 

<> soldler-childe ! most eloquent of thee. 
Of thy sad life, ami all the unsealed mystery. 

I look into the dread, forbidding tomb; 

1...! darkness— death. The soul en shifting -and 

That belts eternity gropes in the gloom 

The black-winged bird goes forth in search of land. 
Rut turn-; no more to reach my reaching hand — 
0, land beyond the land! 1 lean me o'er 

Thy dust in prayer devout 1 rise, I stand 

Erect; the stormy seas are thine no more; 
A weary white-winded dove ha- touched the olive 
shore. 



\ .v-wreath woven by the sun-down west 
Hangs damp and stained upon the dank gray \\ JJ, 
\ i thy time-soiled tomb and tattered crest; 
-wreath gathered by the seas that .all 

T lent « aihay. that break and fall 

• in shell-lined shores, before Tahiti's breeze 

A slab, a crest, a wreath, and these are all 
Neglected, tattered, torn; yet only these 
The \\..ild bestows for song that rivaled singing seas 

A bay-vi reath wound by one more truly brave 

Than Sbastan; fair a- thy eternal lam. . 

She -at and wove above the sunset wave, 

And wound and sang th\ measures and tin name. 
"T wa- wound l.\ one, vet -. i:l with on.- a.-elaini 

By many, fair and warm as flowing wine, 

And purelj true, and [all a- glowing llaiue. 

That li-t and lean in moonlight's yellow shine 
To tropic tales ••! love in other tongues than thine. 

1 bring this idle reflex of thy task, 

And my few loves, to thy forgotten tomb: 

I leave them here: and here all pardon a-k 

of thee, and patience a-k of singers whom 
Thy majesty ha- silenced. I resume 

My staff, and now my face i- to the West : 
My feet are worn: the sun i- gone, a gloom 
Has mantled Hucknall, and the minstrel's zest 
For tame is broken here, and here he pleads for rest 
Joaquin Miller. 



OX THE PORTRAIT OF SHAKERPEARE. 



PHIS figure that thou here seest put. 
It was for gentle Shakespeare cut, 
' Wherein the graver lia.l a strife 
With nature, to outdo the life: 
O could he hut have drawn his wit, 



As well in brass, as he hath hit 
His face; the prim would then surpass 
All thai wa- ever writ in brass: 
But since he cannot, reader, look, 
Not on his picture, but his book. 

Ben Jonson. 



316 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



THE LOST OCCASION. 

[In memory of Daniel Webster.] 



| OME die too late, and some too soon, 
i At early morning, heat of noon, 
I Or the chill evening twilight. Thou, 
Whom the rich heavens did so endow 
With eyes of power and Jove's own brow, 
With all the massive strength that tills 
Thy home-horizon's granite hills, 
With rarest gifts of heart and head 
l^rom manliest stock inherited 
New England's stateliest type of man. 
In port and speech Olympian; 
Whom no one met, at first, hut took 
A second awed and wondering look 
(As turned, perchance, the eyes of Greece, 
On Phidias' unveiled masterpiece) ; 
Whose words in simplest home-spun clad, 
The Saxon strength of Csedmon's had, 
With power reserved at need to reach 
The Roman forum's loftiest speech, 
Sweet with persuasion, eloquent 
In passion, cool in argument, 
Or, ponderous, falling on thy foes 
As fell the Norse god's hammer blows, 
Crushing as if with Talus' flail 
Through error's logic-woven mail, 
And failing only when they tried 
The adamant of the righteous side, — 
Thou, foiled in aim and hope, bereaved 
Of old friends, by the new deceived, 
Too soon for us, too soon for thee, 
Beside thy lonely Northern sea, 
Where long and low the marsh-lands spread, 
Laid wearily down thy august head. 

Thou shouldst have lived to feel below 

Thy feet Disunion's fierce upthrow, — 

The late-sprung mine that underlaid 

Thy sad concessions vainly made. 

Thou shouldst have seen from Sumter's wall 

The star-flag of the Union fall, 

And armed Rebellion pressing on 

The broken lines of Washington! 

No stronger voice than thine had then 

Called out the utmost might of men, 



To make the Union's charter free 
And strengthen law by liberty. 
How had that stern arbitrament 
To thy gray age youth's vigor lent, 
Shaming ambition's paltry prize 
Before thy disillusioned eyes; 
Breaking the spell about thee wound 
Like the green withes that Samson bound; 
Redeeming, in one effort grand, 
Thyself and thy imperilled land ! 
Ah, cruel fate, that closed to thee, 
O sleeper by the Northern sea, 
The gates of opportunity! 
God fills the gaps of human need, 
Each crisis brings its word and deed. 
Wise men and strong we did not lack ; 
But still, with memory turniug back, 
In the dark hours we thought of thee, 
And thy lone grave beside the sea. 

Above that grave the east winds blow, 

And from the marsh-lands drifting slow 

The sea-fog comes, with evermore 

The wave-wash of a lonely shore, 

And sea-birds melancholy cry, 

As Nature fain would typify 

The sadness of a closing scene, 

The loss of that which should have been. 

But, where thy native mountains bare 

Their foreheads to diviner air, 

Fit emblem of diviner fame, 

One lofty summit keeps thy name. 

For thee the cosmic forces did 

The rearing of that pyramid ; 

The prescient ages shaping with 

Fire, flood, and frost, thy monolith. 

Sunrise and sunset lay thereon 

With hands of light their benison; 

The stars of midnight pause to set 

Their jewels in its coronet. 

And evermore that mountain mass 

Seems climbing from the shadowy pass 

To light, as if to manifest 

Thy nobler self, thy life at best! 

John Greenleaf Whittier. 



NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE. 



•4^ 



!>HERE in seclusion and remote from men 
X|j The wizard hand lies cold, 
*f* Which at its topmost speed let fall the pen, 
And left the tale half told. 



Ah ! who shall lift that wand of magic power, 

And the lost clew regain? 
The unfinished window in Aladdin's tower 

Unfinished must remain! 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 



PLACES ASD PERSONS. 



317 



HENTtT WADSWOETII LONGFELLOW. 

(DIED MARCH 24, 1SS2.) 



gfe 



?■■ -, 

IE mourn for those whose laurels fade, 
Whose greatness in the grave is laid; 
\ Whose memory few will care to keep, 
Whose nam.-, forgotten, Boon -hall sleep; 
We mourn Life's vainness, as we bow 
O'er folded bands and icj brow. 



I 



Wan is the grief of those whose faith 
Is bounded by the shores ol Death; 
From out whose mists ol doubl and gloom 
No rainbow arches o'er the tomb 
Where Love's last tribute ol a tear 
Lies with dead flowers upon tin- bier. 

O thou revered, beloved! — not yet, 
With Bob of bells, with eyes tear-wet, 
Willi faltering pulses, do we lay 
Tin greatness in the grave awaj ; 
Not Auburn's consecrated ground 
("an hold the life thai wraps thee round. 

still shall thy gentle presence prow 
Its ministry of hope ami love; 
Thy tender tones be heard w Ithin 
Tin- -lory of Evangeline; 



And by tlic Fireside, midst the rest, 
Thou ..n -halt be a welcome guest 

Again the Mystery will i»- clear; 
The august Tuscan's shades appear; 
Moved t'.v th> Impulse, we -hall feel 
New longings tor thj high ideal; 
And under all thy forms "t an 
F11I beatings of a human heart 

A- in our dreams we follow thee 

With longing eyes Bej l h, 

We see thee on some loftier height 

Aito-.w1i.im- in-iiil.lin- luidiri- of light 

Our Voices "i the Night are borne, 
Clasp with white hand the Btars .>i Morn. 

O happy Poetl Thine is nol 
A portion In the common lol \ 
Thy u..rk- shall follow thee; thj w 
Shall -t ; !l thy living thoughts rehears) ; 

gee shall to thee belong- 
As Immortality >>f Song. 

I KANCIfi I 



HORACE GREELEY. 



ITH, let thy aoftesl mantle rest 

<»n this worn child to thee returning, 
Who-,- youth was nurtured al thj breast, 

Who lov.-d thee « Ith such tender yearning. 
Ee knew thy fields and woodland ways, 

And deemed thy humblest son his brother; 
Asleep, beyond our blame or praise, 

We yield him back, gentle Mother! 

Of praise, of blame, he drank his till: 
Who has not read the life-long story? 

And dear we hold hi- lame, bul -till 

The man was dearer than hi- glory. 
And now to ns are left alone 

Tie- closel where his -hadow lingers, 

The vacant chair — that was a throne. — 

The pen just fallen from his fingers. 

■Wrath Changed to kindness on that pen, 
Though dipped in .gall, it Sowed with honey; 

One flash from out the cloud, and then 
The .-kies with smile and jest were sunny. 



Of hate he surely lacked tin- art. 

Who mad.- hi- em-iin hi- lover: 

O reverend head, and Christian heart! 
When- now their like the round world over? 

lie saw the g In.---, not the taint. 

In many a poor, do- nothing creature, 
And gave to -inner and to saint. 

I>ut kept his faith in human nature; 
Perchance he was not worldlj -wise, 

Yet we who noted, standing nearer, 
The shrewd, kind tw inkle in his eyes, 

For every weakness held him dearer 

Ala-, that unto him who u r :iv ,. 

So much -o little should be given] 
Himself alone he might not save, 

Of all for whom hi- hand- had -triven. 

Place, freedom, fame, hi- work bestowed; 

Men took, and passed, and left him lonely; 
What marvel if. beneath his load. 

At times he craved — for justice only. 



dl8 



THE ROYAL GALLERY 



Yet thanklessness, the serpent's tooth, 

His lofty purpose could not alter; 
Toil had no power to bend his youth, 

Or make his lusty manhood falter; 
From envy's sling, from slander's dart, 

That armored soul the body shielded, 
Till one dark sorrow chilled his heart, 

And then he bowed his head and yielded. 

Now, now, we measure at its worth 

The gracious presence gone forever! 
The wrinkled East, that gave him birth, 

Laments with every laboring river ; 
Wild moan the free winds of the West 

For him who gathered to her prairies 
The sons of men, and made each crest 

The haunt of happy household fairies ; 

And anguish sits upon the mouth 
Of her who came to know him latest : 

His heart was ever thine, O South ! 
He Avas thy truest friend, and greatest! 



He shunned thee in thy splendid shame, 
He stayed thee in thy voiceless sorrow; 
■ The day thou shalt forget his name, 

Fair South, can have no sadder morrow. 

The tears that fall from eyes unused, 

The hands above his grave united, 
The words of men whose lips he loosed, 

Whose cross he bore, whose wrongs he righted, — 
Could he but know, and rest with this ! 

Yet stay, through Death's low-lying hollow, 
His one last foe's insatiate hiss 

On that benignant shade would follow ! 

Peace ! while we shroud this man of men, 

Let no unhallowed word be spoken ! 
He will not answer thee again, 

His mouth is sealed, his wand is broken. 
Some holier cause, some vaster trust 

Beyond the veil, he doth inherit : 
O gently, Earth, receive his dust, 

And Heaven soothe his troubled spirit! 

Edmund Clarence Stedman. 



JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE. 

l~E~EN be the turf above thee 
Friend of my better days! 
jSTone knew thee but to love thee, 
J4> Nor named thee but to praise. 



Tears fell, when thou wert dying, 
From eyes unused to weep, 

And long, where thou art lying, 
Will tears the cold turf steep. 

When hearts whose truth was proven, 
Like thine, are laid in earth, 

There should a wreath be woven 
To tell the world their worth ; 



And I, who woke each morrow 
To clasp thy hand in mine, 

Who shared thy joy and sorrow, 
Whose weal and woe were thine,- 



It should be mine to braid it 

Around thy faded brow ; 
But I've in vain essayed it, 

And feel I cannot now. 

While memory bids me weep thee, 
Nor thoughts nor words are free ; 

The grief is fixed too deeply 
That mourns a man like thee. 

Fitz-Greene Halleck. 



DIRGE FOR A SOLDIER. 



MAJOR-GENERAL PHILIP KEARNEY. 



|LOSE his eyes ; his work is done ! 
I What to him is friend or foeman, 
Rise of moon or set of sun, 
Hand of man or kiss of woman? 
Lay him low, lay him low, 
In the clover or the snow ! 
What cares he? he cannot know; 
Lay him low ! 

As man may, he fought his fight, 
Proved his truth by his endeavor; 

Let him sleep in solemn night, 
Sleep forever and forever. 



Lay him low, lay him low, 
In the clover or the snow ! 
What cares he? he cannot know; 
Lay him low ! 

Fold him in his country's stars. 

Poll the drum and fire the volley! 
What to him are all our wars? — 
What but death bemocking folly? 
Lay him low, lay him low, 
In the clover or the snow! 
What cares he? he cannot know; 
Lav him low ! 



PLAI BS AM' PERSONS. 



319 



Leave him to God's watching eye: 
Trusl liim i" the hand that made 

Mortal love weeps idly by; 
God alone has power i" aid him. 



Lay him low, lay him low, 
In the clover or the snow! 
What cares he? he cannot know 
Lav liim low! 



1 .i OBG1 III NK1 BOKJ i:. 



VALE. 



\l? mortuis nil nisi bonum." When 
For me the end bas come, and I am dead, 
And little voluble chattering daw - of men 
Peck at me curiously, lei ii then be -aid 
By some "if brave enough t" speak the truth: 
Here 1 i < ■ ~ a great soul killed bj cruel \\ rong. 

Down all the balmy da\ - ol hi- ln-h youth, 

TO his bleak, desolate UOOU, with BWOld and iOBg, 

And speech that rushed u|' hotly from the heart. 

He wroughl tor Liberty, till hi- own wound 
(He had been stabbed i, concealed « Ith painful an 

Through wasting years, mastered him, and he 
swooned, 
Ami sank there w here \ on see him Ij Ing now. 
With that word "Failure" written on his brow. 

Bnl -ay thai he succeeded. If he missed 

World's honors, and world'- plaudit- and the 

wage 

Of the World's deft |aei|lley-. -till hi- lip- were ki--ed 
Daily by those bigh angels who assuage 

The thirstings ol the poets— for he was 

Born uuto sinking, and a burthen lay 



Mightily on him. and he moaned because 

II" could not rightly utter in the daj 
What God taught in the night. Sometimes, nathless, 

Power tell upon him, and bright tongues of flame, 
And blessings reached him from poor souls in stress, 

And benedictions from Uaek pit- of shame, 
And little children's love, and old me,,'- prayers, 

And a Great Hand that led him unaware-. 

So li.- died rich. And it hi- eyes were blurred 

With thick liim- -ili-nee: he i- in hi- -rave. 
Greatly he suffered; greatly, to,,, he ened; 

Yet broke hi- heart in trj Ing t" )»• brave. 
Nor did he wait till Freedom bad become 

The i'"piilar shibboleth "t the courtier's lips. 
But -mote for her when God tTimseli seemed dumb 

And all hi- arching skies were in eclipse. 
He wa- a-weary, but be fought hi- fight, 

And -t I for simple maul I: and wa- joyed 

To -ee the august broadening "i the light, 

And new earths hea> Ing heavenward from tin- void 
lb- loved hi- fellows, ami their love wa- sw< 

Plant dai-ie- at hi- head and at hi- feet. 

Bll II LED Kealk. 



A FRIEND'S GREETING. 



TO J. (.. w III l I ll it on HIS SEVENTH ill BIRTHD \Y. 



ENOW-BOUND for earth, but summcr-soulcd 

thee. 

Thy natal momhlg -bine- : 
Hail, friend and poet. Give thj band to me. 

And let me read its lines] 

For skilled in fancy's palmistry am 1, 

When years have Set their crown; 

When life gives light to read ii- secrets by, 
And deed explains renown. 

So, looking backward from thy seventieth year 

On service grand and free, 
The pictures of thy spirit's past are clear, 

And each interprets thee. 

I see thee, first, on hills our Aryan sires 

In time's lost morning knew . 
Kindling as priest the lonely altar-fires 

That from earth's darkness grew. 



Then wi-e w ith secrets ol < lhaldssan lore, 

in high Akkadian fane; 
Or pacing slow bj Egypt's river shore, 

In Tb.0tb.me3' glorious reign. 

I hear thee, w roth with all Iniquities 
ThatJudah's kings betrayed. 

Preach from Ain-Jidi's rock thy fowl's decrees, 
Or Mamie's terebinth shade. 

And. ah! most piteous vision of the past, 

Drawn by thy being's law, 
I see thee, martyr, in the arena cast, 

Beneath the lion's paw. 

Yet, afterward-, how ran- thy sword upon 
The payniui helm and shield! 

How shone with Godfrey, and at Askalon, 
Thy white plume o'er the field. 



•Written immediately before his suicide. 



320 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



Strange contradiction ! where the sand waves spread 

The boundless desert sea, 
The Bedouin spearmen fouud their destined head, 

Their dark-eyed chief — in thee! 

And thou wert friar in Cluny*s saintly cell, 

And Skald by Norway's foam. 
Ere fate of poet fixed thy soul to dwell 

In this New England home. 

Here art thou poet, — more than warrior, priest; 

And here thy quiet years 
Yield more to us tban sacrifice or feast, 

Or clash of swords or spears. 

The faith that lifts, the courage that sustains, 

These thou wert sent to teach : 
Hot blood of battle, beating in thy veins, 

Is turned to gentle speech. 



Not less, but more, than others hast thou striven; 

Thy victories remain : 
The scars of ancient hate, long since forgiven, 

Have lost their power to pain. 

Apostle pure of freedom and of light, 

Thou hadst thy one reward ; 
Thy prayers were heard, and flashed upon thy sight 

The coming of the Lord! 

Now, sheathed in myrtle of thy tender songs, 

Slumbers the blade of truth ; 
But age's wisdom, crowning thee, prolongs 

The eager hope of youth. 

Another line upon thy hand I trace, 

All destinies above : 
Men know thee most as one that loves his race, 

And bless thee with their love! 

Bayard Taylor. 



MOURN no more my vanished years : 

Beneath a tender rain, 
An April rain of smiles and tears, 

My heart is young again. 

The west- winds blow, and, singing low, 
I hear the glad streams run ; 

The windows of my soul I throw 
Wide open to the sun. 

No longer forward nor behind 

I -look in hope or fear; 
But, grateful, take the good I find, 

The best of now and here. 

I plough no more a desert land, 

To harvest weed and tare ; 
The manna dropping from God's hand 

Rebukes my painful care. 

I break my pilgrim staff, — I lay 

Aside the toiling oar; 
The angel sought so far away 

I welcome at my door. 

The airs of spring may never play 

Among the ripening corn, 
Nor freshness of the flowers of May 

Blow through the autumn morn; 

Yet shall the blue-eyed gentian look 
Through fringdd lids to heaven, 

And the pale aster in the brook 

Shall see its image given; — 

The woods shall wear their robes of praise, 
The south-wind softly sigh, 

And sweet, calm days in golden haze 
Melt down the amber sky. 

Not less shall manly deed and word 
Rebuke an age of wrong; 



MY PSALM. 

The graven flowers that wreathe the sword . 

Make not the blade less strong. 
But smiting hands shall learn to heal, — 

To build as to destroy ; 
Nor less my heart for others feel 

That I the more enjoy. 
All as God wills who wisely heeds 

To give or to withhold, 
And knoweth more of all my needs 

Than all my prayers have told ! 
Enough that blessings undeserved 

Have marked my erring track ; — 
That wheresoe'er my feet have swerved, 

His chastening turned me back; — 
That more and more a Providence 

Of love is understood. 
Making the springs of time and sense 

Sweet with eternal good ; — 
That death seems but a covered way 

Which opens into light, 
Wherein no blinded child can stray 

Beyond the Father's sight; — 
That care and trial seem at last, 

Through Memory's sunset air, 
Like mountain-ranges overpast, 

In purple distance fair ; — 
That all the jarring notes of life 

Seem blending in a psalm, 
And all the angels of its strife 

Slow rounding into calm. 
And so the shadows fall apart, 

And so the west-winds play; 
And all the windows of my heart 

I open to the day. 

John Greenleaf Whittier. 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION 




ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD. 



HE curfew tolls the knell of parting day. 

The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea. 

The ploughman homeward plods his weary way. 

And leaves the world to darkness aud to me. 



Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, 
And all the air a solemn stillness holds. 

Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, 
Aud drowsy tinkling* lull the distant folds: 
321 



322 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower, 
The moping owl does to the moon complain 

Of such as, wandering near her secret hower, 
Molest her ancient solitary reign. 



For them no more the Mazing hearth shall hum, 
Or busy housewife ply her evening care ; 

No children run to lisp their sire's return, 
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. 




' The lowing herd grinds sli 



^Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade . 

"Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, 
Each in his narrow cell forever laid, 

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 



Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, 
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; 

How jocund did they drive their team afield! 
How bovK-d the woods beneath their sturdy stroke! 




The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, 
The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, 

The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, 
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. 



Let not ambition mock their useful toil. 

Their homely joys, and destiny ob cure; 
Nov grandeur hear with a disdainful smile 

The short and simple annals of the poor. 



SENTIMENT AXI) REFLECTION. 



323 



The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, 
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, 



Pan storied urn, or animated bust, 
Back to Its mansion caliche fleeting breath? 




• Children run to lisp the] 



Await alike the Inevitable hon 
The paths of glory lead bnl 



the grave. 



( an honor's voice provoke the silent <)u-t, 
Or flatter] soothe the dull cold ear <>f death? 




Nor you. ye proud, impute to these the fault, 
If memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise. 

Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault 
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 



Perhaps in iliis neglected spol is laid 

Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; 
Hands thai the rod of empire might have .swayed, 

Or waked to testacy the living lyre; 



8i»-l 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page 
Rich with the spoils of Ijjme did ne'er unroll; 



Full many a flower is born to blush 
And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 




jocund did they drive their team afield." 



Chill penury repressed their noble rage, 
And froze the genial current of the soul. 



Some village Hampden, that, with dauntless breast, 
The little tyrant of his fields withstood, 




Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast, 
The little tyrant of his field withstood." 



Full many a gem of purest ray serene 
The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear; 



Some mute inglorious Miltou here may l'est, 
Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood. 



SENTIMENT AND REFLE< HON. 



325 



The applause oi listening Benates to command, 
The threats of pain and ruin to deBpise, 

To Bcatter plenty o'er a smiling land, 
Ami n-ad their bistorj in a nation's eyes, 

Their lol forbade: aor circumscribed alone 
Their growing virtues, bul their crimes confined; 

Forbade to wade through slaughter t<> a throne, 
And shut the gates oi merc;i on mankind: 



Their name, their year-, spelt by the unlettered Miwe, 

The place oi tame and elegy supplj : 
And many a holy texl around -he -trow-. 

Thai teacb the rustic moralist to die. 

For who. to dumb forgetfulness a prey, 
This plea-in- anxious being e'er resigned, 

Left the warm precincts ol the cheerful day, 
Nbrcasl one longing, lingering look behind? 




The struggling pangs of conscious trutli i i hide. 

To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, 
Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride 

With Incense kindled at the Muse's flame. 

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble suite. 

Their sober wishes never learned to stray; 
Along the eool sequestered vale of lite 

They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. 

Tet even these bones from insult to protect. 

Some frail memorial still erected nigh. 
"With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture decked, 

Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. 



on some fond brcasl the porting soul relies, 
Some pious drops the closing eye requires; 

E'en from the tomb 'lie '/oice ol nature cries, 
E'en in our ashes live their wonted Ores. 

I or line, who mindful of the unhonored dead, 
l >os1 in these line- their artless tale relate: 

If chance, by lonely contemplation led. 
Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate,— 

Haply some hoary-headed -wain may say : 
Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawu 

Brushing with hasty steps the dew- away. 
To meet the -uti upon the upland lawn: 



326 



THE ROYAL GALLERY, 



There at the foot of yonder nodding beech, 
That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high. 



Now drooping, woful-wan, like one forlorn, 
Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless love. 




His listless length at noontide would he stretch, 
And pore upon the brook that babbles by. 



One mo 
Aloiu 



•n I missed him on the customed hill, 
the heath, and near his favorite tree; 




i and read — for thou canst read — the lay 
an the stone beneath yon aged thorn." 



Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, 
Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove ; 



Another came; nor yet beside the rill, 
Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he : 



BEN I IMi:\ l AND REFLECTION. 



327 



The next, wiili dirges due In Bad army. 

Slow through the ehurch-waj path we -a\ 
borne: — 
Approach and read (for thou canst read the la 

Graved on the Btone beneath yon aged thorn 

I 111 I II IAIMI. 

Here rests his bead upon the lap of earth, 
a youth, to fortune and to fame unknown: 

Fair Science frowned uol on his humble birth, 
Ami Melancholy marked him for her own. 



Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere; 

Heaven did a recompense as Largely send; 
Il«- gave I- miserj all he had a tear, 

He gained fr Heaven 'I was all he wished 

friend. 

No farther seek his merits to disclose, 
Or draw his frailties from their dread i le, 

i L'here the} alike in trembling hope repose . 
I he b — in ol hi- Father and his God. 

Chomas Giu.j 



TFANATOPSIS. 



fO him who in the love of Nature holds 
< k>mmunion with her visible forms, she speaks 
A various language; for his gayer hours 
She baa a voice ol gladness and a Bmilc 
And eloquence of beauty; and she glides 
Into his darker musings wiili a mild 
Ami healing sympathy, that Bteals away 
Their Bharpness ere he Is aware. When thoughts 
Of the last bitter hour comes like a blight 
Over tliy spirit, and Bad Images 
of the stern agony, and abroad, and pail, 
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, 
Make thee to ehudder, and grow -uk at In-art — 

<;<> forth under the open Bkj , and li-t 

To Nature's teachings, while from all around— 

Earth and her wain--, ami the depths ot air— 

< !omeS a still voice I Set a fow da\ - and lln-.- 

The all-beholding Bun shall Bee no more 
In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground, 
Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears, 
Nor in the embrace of ocean, -hall exist 

Thy Image. Earth, that d ished thee, -hall claim 

Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again ; 
And. lost each human irace. surrendering op 
Thine individual being shall thou go 

To mix forever with the elements — 

To be a brother to the insensible rock, 

And to the Bluggish clod, « hich the rude swain 

Turn- with his -hare, and treads upon. Th 

shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thj mould. 

Vet not t'> thine eternal resting-place 
Shalt thOU retire alone; nor COUld'st thou wish 

< touch more magnificent Thou shall Lie down 
With patriarchs ,,f the infant world,— with kings; 
The powerful of the earth, the wi-e. the good, 
Fair forms, ami hoary seers of ages past, 

All in one mighty sepulchre. The bills, 
Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun; the vales 
Stretching in pensive quietness between; 
The venerable woods; rivers that move 
In inajesty, and the complaining brooks, 



That make the me il " - _!• i ii : and. poured round all, 

Old ocean's gray and melancholj w 

Are hut tin- solemn dec, nation- all 

ot the great tomb of man. ["he golden Bun, 
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, 
Are shining on the sad abodes of death, 
Through the still lapse ot ages. All that tread 
i be are but a handful to the tribes 

Thai slumber in it- bosom. Take the wings 
01 morning, traverse Barca's desert -and-. 

Or Lose thyself in (he continuous « l- 

Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound 
Save hi- own dashings yet the dead are there; 
And millions in those solitudes, since iir-t 
The flight of \ear- began, have Laid them down 
In their la-i sleep the dead reign there alone. 
So -halt thou rest ; and what if thou withdraw 
In silence from the living, and no friend 
Take note ol tin departure? All that breathe 
Will -hare th) destiny. Phe gay will laugh 
Winn ihou art "one. the -o|emn brood of care 

Plod on, and each one as before "ill chase 
Hi- favorite phantom ; yet all these shall leave 

Their mirth and their ainploj mem-, and shall come 
And make their bed with thee. A- the long train 

- glide away, the sons of men— 
The youth in life's green spring, and he w hi 
In the full Strength of years, matron and maid, 
\nd the sweel babe, and the gray-headed man— 
Shall one by one be gathered to th- 
in those who in their turn shall follow them. 

So live, thai when thy summons comes to join 
The innumerable caravan thai moves 
To that my-ieriou- realm where each -hall take 
His chamber in the silent halls oJ death, 
Thou go not like the quarry-slave at night, 
Scourged to hi- dungeon; but, sustained and soothed 
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave 
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 
About him. and lies down to pleasant dreams. 

William Cuixen Bryant. 



328 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 






I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER. 



REMEMBER, I remember 

The house where I was born, 
The little window where the sun 

Came peeping in at morn ; 
He never came a wink too soon, 

Nor brought too long a day, 
But now I often wish the night 

Had borne my breath away! 



I remember, I remember 

Where I was used to swing, 
And thought the air must rush as fresh 

To swallows on the wing ; 
My spirit flew in feathers then, 

That is so heavy now, 
And summer pools could hardly cool 

The fever on my brow. 




I remember, I remember 

The roses, rod and white, 
The violets, and the lily-cups, 

Those flowers made of light! 
The lilacs, where the robin built, 

And where my brother set 
The laburnum on his birthday, — 

The tree is living yet! 



I remember, I remember 

The fir-trees dark and high; 
I used to think their slender tops 

Were close against the sky. 
It was a childish ignorance, 

But now 'tis little joy 
To know I 'm farther off from heaven 

Than when I was a boy. 

Thomas Hood. 



"ITERE appears to exist a greater desire to live long than to live well. Measure by 
drab man's desires, he cannot live long enough; measure by his good deeds, and he has 
not lived long enough; measure by his evil deeds, and he has lived too long. 



SKNIIMI.N I \\l' REFLECTION. 



329 



TWO SONNETS. 



I.— SOLITUDE. 

), child of Borrow, to the Lonely wood, 

And company with trees, and rocks and bills, 

With creeping Tines, with flow'rs, and gentle 

rill.«. 
That seem themselves i<> (eel the musing mood, 
Ami teed with thought the charming Bolitude. 
There La a -pint in the groves that till- 
The heart with snch an Influence as steale 
TIk- outward sense, and leaves the bou! Imbued 

With pow'r to hold coi inion with the dead ; 

And ministering angels lure may t » - 1 1 
Borne nappy storj of the spiril home: 

Borne Lov'd one gone, for « b the heart has bled, 

.May whisper thoughts the Bad unreal to quell, 
Aud point to realms of j<>\ and I id thee cmue. 



o 



n.— DESPAIR. 
Death in Life! grave where grim Despair 



llatli buried hope, and ev'ry pleasing dream 
I »t what the years ma.) bring! The fitful gleam 
I >t light that Lingers yet, but points me where 
A glorj might have been; and shapes "t fear 

Look through the g] u, till my surroundings seem 

The work ol some malignant thing, supreme 
O'er all my pow'rs to plan, to strive, to bear. 

Ere yet high d i of days, bereft of Btrength 

To toil for those i imitted to mj hand. 

And doomed t" Bee no more a smiling Bun, 
I find that all i- bitterness at Length. 
Tet, <."d hath care ■•! us; here Let me stand, 
And saj , with steadfast heart, "His will !»• done." 
Ed. Pobxbb Thompsojc. 





%rm 






t i 


>fef 


fj-.j-w f%m wHM 


J,:- 




flin»«i 



"Too late I stayed,— forpive the crime." 

TOO LATE I STATED. 



T 



00 late I stayed,— forgive the crime! 

Dnl led flew the hours: 

How- noiseless falls the foot of Time 
That only treads on flowers! 

And who, with clear account remarks 
The ebbings of its glass. 



When all it- -and- arc diamond sparks , 
That dazzle as they pass'? 

Oh, who to sober measurement 

Time's happy -\\ iftness brings. 
When birds of paradise have lent 

Their plumage to his wings? 

William Robert Spencer. 



330 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



MT LIFE IS LIKE THE SUMMER ROSE. 



|§Y life is like the summer rose 

That opens to the morning sky, ■ 
But, ere the shades of evening close, 
Is scattered on the ground— to die ! 
Yet on the rose's humble bed 
The sweetest dews of night are shed, 
As if she wept the waste to see, — 
But none shall weep a tear for me! 

My life is like the autumn leaf 
That trembles in the moon's pale ray; 

Its hold is frail — its date is brief , 
Restless — and soon to pass away ! 



Yet, ere that leaf shall fall and fade, 
The parent tree will mourn its shade, 
The winds bewail the leafless tree, — 
But none shall breathe a sigh for me ! 

My life is like the prints which feet 

Have left on Tampa's desert strand; 
Soon as the rising tide shall beat, 

All trace will vanish from the sand; 
Yet, as if grieving to efface 
All vestige of the human race, 
On that lone shore loud moans the sea, — 
But none, alas ! shall mourn for me ! 

Richard Henry Wilde. 




"Night is the time for toil, 
To plough the classic field." 



NIGHT. 



fIGHT is the time for rest; 

How sweet when labors close, 
To gather round an aching breast 

The curtain of repose ; 
Stretch the tired limbs and lay the head 
Upon our own delightful bed! 

Night is the time for dreams; 

The gay romance of life, 
When truth that is, and truth that 

Blend in fantastic strife; 
Ah ! visions less beguiling far 
Than M*aking dreams by daylight are- 



Night is the time for toil ; 

To plough the classic field, 
Intent to find the buried spoil 

Its wealthy furrows yield ; 
Till all is ours that sages taught, 
That poets sang, or heroes wrought. 

Night is the time to weep ; 

To Avet with unseen tears 
Those graves of memory, where sleep 

The joys of other yeai's; 
Hopes that were angels in their birth, 
But perished young, like things of earth ! 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



331 



Night i- the time to watch; 

Oer ocean's dark expanse, 
To hall the Pleaides, or catch 

The full moon's earliest glance, 
That brings unto the homesick mind 
All we have loved and left behind. 

Nighl is the time for care; 

Brooding on hours misspent, 
To Bee the spectre "f despair 



Bej ond the -tarn pole, 
Descries athwart the abyss ol aighl 
The daw □ ot uncreated light. 

Nighl is the time to pray: 

< nir Saviour oft n ithdrew 
l o desert mountains far away,— 

So will his followers do; 
Steal from the throng to haunts iintrod. 
And hold commmlion with th 




is the tini. 



i" our lonely tent : 
Like Brutus, midst his Blumbering host, 
Startled by Caesar's stalwart ghost 

Night Is the time to muse; 

Then from the eye the bou! 
Takes flight, and with expanding views 



Nighl Is the time for death; 

When all around i- peace, 
Calmrj to yield the weary breath, — 

Prom -in and suffering cease:— 
Think ol heaven's bliss, and give ihe sign 
To parting friends: — such death be mine, 

James Montgomery. 



l/\ MAJESTIC Night! 

\/ Nature's great ancestor! day's elder born! 
\nd fated to survive the transient sun! 
^ By mortals and immortals seen with awe: 

A starry crown thy raven hrow adorn-, 
An azure zone thy waist; clouds, in heaven's 
loom 
Wrought through varieties of shape and -hade. 



In ample fold- of drapery divine. 

Thy flowing mantle form, and. heaven throughout, 

Voluminously pour thy pompous train: 

Thy gloomy grandeurs — Nature's most august, 

Inspiring aspect!— claim a grateful verse; 

Aud. like a sable curtain -tarred with gold. 

Drawn o'er my labors past, shall close the scene. 



332 



ROYAL GALLERY. 



BREAK, BREAK, BREAK. 



|REAK, break, break, 

On thy cold, gray stones, O Sea ! 
And I would that my tongue could utter 
The thoughts that arise in me. 



And the stately ships go on 
To their haven under the hill ; 

But O for the touch of a vanished hand, 
And the sound of a voice that is still! 




1 Break, break, break, . 
On thy cold, gray stones, O Sea! 



O well for the fisherman's boy, 
That he shouts with his sister at play! 

O well for the sailor lad, 
That he sings in his boat on the bay. 



Break, break, break, 

At the foot of thy crags, O Sea! 
But the tender grace of a day that is dead 

Will never come back to me. 

Alfred Tennyson. 



REFLECTIONS IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 



?HEN I look upon the tombs of the great, every emotion of envy dies in me; 
when I read the epitaphs of the beautiful, every inordinate desire goes out; 
when I meet with the grief of parents upon a tombstone, my heart melts with 
compassion; when I see the tomb of the parents themselves, I consider the 
vanity of grieving for those whom we must quickly follow. When I see kings 
lying by those who deposed them, when I consider rival wits placed side by side, or the holy 
men that divided the world with their contests and disputes, I reflect with sorrow and 
astonishment on the little competitions, factions, and debates of mankind. When I 
read the several dates of the tombs, of some that died yesterday, and some six hundred 
years ago, I consider that great day when we shall all of us be contemporaries, and make 
our appearance together. 

Joseph Addison. 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



333 



BUGLE-SONG. 



splendor fall- on castle wall- 
And snowy summits < • 1 « 1 In story; 
The long light shakes across the lakes, 
Ami the wild cataract leaps in glory. 
Blow, bogle, blow, -<i ih<- wild echoes living. 
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, 
dying. 



The horns "t" Elfland faintly blowing! 
Bl"\\ , lei as hear the purple glens replying; 
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. 

they die in yon rich sky, 
They faint on hill, or field, or river; 
Our echoes roll from soul to soul, 




"The splendor falls on castle walls. 
And snowy summits old in story." 



f, hark! 0, bear how thin and clear. 
And thinner, clearer, farther going 
O, sweet and far from cliff and scar 



And grow fjoreverand forever. 
Blow, bugle, blow, ; >-i the wild echoes flying, 
And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dyiDg. 
Alfred Tennyson. 



|HERE the owner of the house is bouutiful, it is not for the steward to be 
niggardly. 



334 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



THOSE EVENING BELLS. 



HOSE evening "bells! those evening bells! 
How many a tale their music tells 
Of youth and home, and that sweet time 
When last I heard their soothing chime ! 

Those joyous hours are passed away; 
And many a heart that then was gay 



Within the tomb now darkly dwells, 
And hears no more those evening bells. 
And so 't will be when I am gone, — 
That tuneful peal will still ring on; 
While other bards shall walk these dells, 
And sing your praise, sweet evening bells. 

Thomas Moore. 




PICTURES OF MEMORY, 



SMONG the beautiful pictures 
I That hang on Memory's wall, 
Is one of a dim old forest, 
That seemeth best of all; 



Not for its gnarled oaks olden, 
Dark with the mistletoe ; 

Not for the violets golden 
'That sprinkle the vale below; 



I.N I IMKNT AND REFLEI HON. 



335 



Not for tho milk-white liliee 

That lean from the fragrant ledge, 
Coquetting all day with the sunbeams, 

Ami Btealing their golden i-<1lt« ; 
* the vines on the uj .'ami. 

w here the bright red berries i t, 
Nor the pink-, oof the pale sweel cowslip, 

li seemetb to me the best. 

I once had a little brother, 

With eyes that were dark and dn-p; 
In tlic lap of that old dim fores) 

II.- lietn in peace asleep: 
Light as tin' down "i the thistli . 

as the \» bads that blow . 
We roved there tin beautiful summers, 

The summers oJ long ago; 
Bui hi- feel on the hills grew wt arj . 

And one of the autumn eves, 
I made for my little brother 

A bed <>t the yellow leaves. 
Bweetlj bis pale arm- folded 

My ueck in a meek embrace, 



A- the- light of immortal beauty 

Silently covered hi- face; 
And when the arrows ol sunset 

Lodged in the tree-tops bright, 
11>- fell, in hi- saint-like beautj , 

Asleep i.\ the eates ol licht. 




Therefore "t" all tin- pictures 
Thai bang on m,- - v > 8 n ;i 

The one of the dim old forest 
Seemetb. the best ol all. 

Ml' I ( u;i. 



THE DIVIMTY OF POETRY 



OETPY 



the record of the besl and happiest momenta of the happiesl and best 
inds. We are aware of evanescent visitations of thoughl .mm,! feeling, sometimes 

associated with place or person, sometimes regarding our own mind alone, and 
A always arising unforeseen and departing unbidden, bul elevating and delightful 
I beyond all expression 3 so that, even in the desire and the regrel they leave, there 

cannot hut he pleasure, participating as it does in the nature of it- object. It is, 
as it were, the interpenetration of a diviner nature through our own ; but its footsteps are 
like those of a wind over the sea, whirl, the morning .•aim erases, and whose traces remain 
only, as on the wrinkled sand whirl, paves it. These ami corresponding conditions of 
being are experienced principally by those of the most delicate sensibility and the most 
enlarged imagination; and the state of mind produced by them is al war with every base 
desire. The enthusiasm of virtu,., love, patriotism, and friendship, i- essentially linked 
with such emotions; and whilsl they last, self appears as whal it is, an atom to a universe. 
Poets atv not on ly subjecl to these experiences a- spirits of the most refined organization, 
but they can color all that they combine with the evanescenl hues of this ethereal world; 
a word, a trait in ih,- representation of a scene or passion, will touch the enchanted 
chord, and reanimate, in those who have ever experienced those .•motions, the sleeping, 
the cold, the buried image of the past. Poetry thus makes immortal all that is best and 
most beautiful in the world: it arrests the vanishing .apparitions which haunt the 
interlunations of life, and veiling them, or in language or in form, sends them forth 
among mankind, bearing sweet news of kindred joy to those with whom their sisters 
abide— abide, because there is „o portal of expressions from the caverns of the spirit 
which they inlud.it into tho universe of things. Poetry redeems from decay the visitations 
of the divinity in man. Percy Bysshe Shelley . 



336 



THE EOYAL GALLEEY. 

THE LESSON OF THE WATER-MILL. 



ISTEN to the water-mill 

Through the live-loog day, 
How the clicking of its wheel 
Wears the hours away ! 



And a proverb haunts my mind 

As a spell is cast : 
" The mill cannot grind 

With the water that is past." 




r rom the field the reapers sing, 
nding up the sheaves." 



Languidly the autumn wind 

Stirs the forest leaves, 
From the fields the reapers sing, 

Binding up the sheaves ; 



Autumn winds revive no more 
Leaves that once are shed, 

And the sickle cannot reap 
Corn once gathered ; 



SENTIMENT AND 1II.1I.I.' HON. 



337 



Flows the ruffled streamlet on, 

Tranquil, deep and still; 
Never gliding back again 

To the water-mill ; 
Trulj speaks that proverb old 

\\ nil a meaning vast — 
m The mill cannot grind 

Witli the water that i- past." 

Take the lesson t" thj sell, 

Tin.' and loving heart; 
Golden \ h i- fleeting by, 

.summer hours depart ; 
Learn to make the bI "i life, 

Lose do bappj daj . 
Time will aever bring thee back, 

Chances swepl away ! 
Leave mm tender word unsaid, 

Love, while love shall last; 
'• Tlif mill cannot grind 

With Hi.' water that is past." 

A\ i.rk while jet the daylight shines, 

Man ol strength and u ill ! 
Never does the streamlet glide 

Useless by the mill; 
Wai i till to-morrow's sun 

Beams upon thy wa\ . 
All that thon canst call thine "W n 

Lies in thy " to-daj ; " 
Power and intellect and health 

May not a I way - last ; 
•*The mill cannot -rind 

Willi the wat i' it. i i- past." 

Oh. the wasted hours ol lile 

That have drifted bj ! 
Oh. the g I that might h&\ 

Lost w Ithoul u iigh : 



Love ihar we might once have saved 

By a single word. 
Thoughts conceived but never penned, 

Perishing unheard ■ 




ah the ir.K. I 



proverb to thine heart, 
i : bold it i i-i. 

- The mill cuunol grind 
\\ uh the water that Is past." 

Sarah Doudotby. 



A ETJNDRED 5TEABS TO COME. 



where will be the birds that Blng, 

A hundred years to come? 
The flowers that now In beauty spring, 

A hundred years to come? 
The rosy lip, the lofty brow, 
The heart that beats so gaily now, 
Oh, where will be love's beaming eye, 
J03 - pleasant smile, and sorrow's sigh, 

A hundred years to come? 

Who'll press for gold this crowded street, 
A hundred years to come? 

"Who "11 tread yon elimvli with willing feet, 
A hundred years to couie'/ 



Pale, trembling age, and fiery youth, 
And childfa I w ith its brow of truth; 

The rich and | r. OD land and -.1. 

Where w ill the might] millions be 
A hundr id y< ars to come? 

We all within our graves shall sleep 

A hundred years to cornel 
No living soul for us will weep 

A hundred years to come! 

But cither mei r lands shall till, 

And other- then our streets will nil, 
"While other birds will sing as gaj 
As bright the sunshine as to-day 

A hunched years to come! 

William Goldsmith 



338 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



THU TWO WEAVERS. 



|S at their work two weavers sat, 

1 Beguiling time with friendly chat, 

2 They touched upon the price of meat, 
So high a weaver scarce could eat. 



"In spite of all the Scripture teaches, 
In spite of all the pulpit preaches, 
The world, indeed I 've thought so long, 
Is ruled, methinks, extremely wrong. 




"Quoth John, 'Our ignorance is the cause 
Why thus we blame our Maker's laws.' " 



"What with my bahes and sickly wife." 
Quoth James. "I 'm almost tired of life. 
So hard we work, so poor we fare, 
5 T is more than mortal man can bear. 



"Where'er I look, howe'er I range 
'T is all confused, and hard, and 
The good are troubled and opprest. 
And all the wicked are the blest." 



"How glorious is the rich man's state, 
His house so fine, his wealth so great; 
Heaven is unjust, you must agree : 
Why all to him, and none to me? 



Quoth John, "Our ignorance is the cause 
Why thus we blame our Maker's laws ; 
Parts of His ways alone we know, 
'Tis all that man can see below. 



SENTIMENT AND REFLEl HON. 



339 



"See'st tliou that carpet, Dot ball done, 
Wliirh thou, dear James, hast well begun? 
Behold the wild confusion there! 
fro rode the ma--, ii makes "in- stare. 

»-A Btranger, ignorant of tin' trade, 

Would Bay no meaning's there < veyed; 

For where's tin- middle, where 's the border? 
Tin- carpel now i> all disorder.' 1 

Quoth James, "My work Isyel in bits 
lint still in everj pari ii lit-; 
Besides, you reason Like a lout. 
Why. man. that carpel 's inside nut: " 

Bays John "Thou Bay'sl the thing I mean, 

And now I hope i" cure thj spleen : 

Th.- world, which el I- thy bou] with 

doubt. 

I- but a carpel Inside out. 

"As w ben we view these shreds and ends, 

We know not what the Whole intend-: 



So when on earth things look but odd. 
They 're working -till Borne BCheme of God. 

'•No plan, no pattern '-an we trace; 
All want- proportion, truth, and grace; 
The motlej mixture we deride, 

Nor .,-.■ th,- beauteous upper aide. 

"Bui when we reach the world ol light. 
And view these work- of God aright, 
Then -hall we see tin- w bole design, 
And own tin- Workman i- divine. 

'•What now Beem random Btrokes, will there 
All order ami design appear; 
Then -hall we praise what here we spurned, 
For there the carpel will be turned." 

"Thou'rt light," quoth .lam.-, "no more 1% 

grumble, 
Thai this world i- -o strange a jumble; 
My impious doubt- an- cut to flight, 
For inj own carpet sets me right. 

Hannah Muia.. 



APPLE BLOSS< '\l>. 



KJK PLUCKED pink blossoms from my Apple-tree, 

PI And wore them all that evening in my hair; 
T Then in due -ea-oii when I went tO -ee. 
I I found DO apples there. 

With dangling basket all along the grass, 
A- l had come, l went the self-same track, 

My neighbors mocked me when they saw me pass 

So empty-handed back. 

Lilian and Lilias smiled in trudging by, 

Their beaped-up baskets teased me like a jeer; 
Sweet-voiced thej sang beneath the summer sky— 

Their mother'- home was near. 

Flump Gertrude passed me w iih her ha-ket full : 
A stronger hand than her- helped it along; 



A voice t dked with her through the shadows cool, 

M ire sweet to me than song. 

Ah. Willie, Williel was my love less worth 

Than apple- with their green leaves piled above? 
1 counted rosiest apples on the earth 
01 far less worth than love. 

So once it was with you stopped to talk, 

Laughing and listening in this very lane: — 
To think that by these ways we used to walk 
\\ e -hall not walk again I 

1 let my neighbors pa-- me. one- and twos 

And groups; the latest -aid the night grew chill, 
And hastened; but I lingered; while the dews 
Tell fasl : 1 lingered -till. 



jrxi-;. 



GAZED upon the glorious sky, 
And the green mountains round. 

And thought that when I came to lie 
At rest within the ground. 

Twere pleasant that in flowery June, 

WTien brooks send up a cheerful tune, 
And groves a joyous Bound, 

The sexton's hand, my grave to make. 

The rich, green mountain turf should break. 



A cell within tlio frozen mould, 
A eotlin borne through sleet, 
And icy clods above i' rolled, 

While tierce the telllpe-t- beat — 

Away! I will nor think of these; 
Blue be the sky and -oft the breeze, 

Earth green beneath the feet. 
And be the damp mould gently pressed 

Into my narrow place of rest. 



340 



THE EOYAL GALLERY. 



There, through the long, loug summer hours 

The golden light should lie, 
And thick young herbs and groups of flowers 

Stand in their beauty by. 
The oriole should build and tell 
His love-tale close heside my cell ; 

The idle butterfly 
Should rest him there, and there be heard 
The housewife bee and humming-bird. 



I kuow that I no more should see 

The season's glorious show, 
Nor would its hrightness shine for me, 

Nor its wild music flow; 
But if, around my place of sleep 
The friends I love should come to weep, 

They might not haste to go ; 
Soft airs, and song, and light and bloom 
Should keep them lingering by my tomb. 




" And what if, in the eveni 

Betrothed lovers walk in si; 

Of my low monument? 



And what if cheerful shouts at noon 

Come, from the village sent, 
Or song of maids beneath the moon 

With fairy laughter blent? 
And what if, in the evening light, 
Betrothed lovers walk in sight 

Of my low monument? 
I would the lovely scene around 
Might know no sadder sight nor sound. 



These to their softened hearts should bear 

The thought of what has been, 
And speak of one who cannot share 

The gladness of the scene ; 
Whose part in all the pomp that Alls 
The circuit of the summer hills 

Is that his grave is green; 
And deeply would their hearts rejoice 
To hear again his living voice. 

William Cullen Bryant. 



|j||KS every instinct, or sense, has an end or design, and every emotion in man has 
«^^> its object and direction, we must conclude that the desire of communing with God 
is but a test of his being destined for a future existence, and the longing after immortality 
the promise of it. 



SENTIMENT AM. REFLECTION. 



341 



EVENING PEATEB AT A GIRLS' SCHOOL. 



Yj^rSTT! 'tis :i holy hour— the quiet room 

$KK Seem- like a temple, u l,il,. \,„, .,,11 lain). -he.]. 

'V - A lain! and -tarry radiauce, through the gloom, 
Ji Audthe8weel stillness, down on Coir young 
heads, 
With all their clust'ring Locks, untouched bj care, 
And bowed, as flowers are bowed with night, in 
prayer. 

Gaze, on— 'tis lovelj ! I nildhood's lip and cheek, 
Mantling beneath it- earnest brow of thou{ 

Ga/.t — yet what sees! thou in those fair, and ek 

And fragile things, a- buf for suushine \\ nought? 

Thoo Beest what griel must nurture for the sky. 

What death must fashion for Eternity. 



Yet in those flute-like voices, mingling low, 
I- woman's tenderness,— how soon berwoel 

Her lot i- ..n you — ilent tears to weep, 

And patienl -mil.- t,, wear through sufferings 
hour, 
And Bumlesa riches, from affection's deep, 

'" pom- on broken reeds- a wasted shower] 
And t., make idols, and to tin. I i clay, 
And to bewail that worship,- it,, reforepray! 

Her lot i- on you— to be found untired, 
u u " m - the stars out bj the bed ol pain, 

With a pal,- cheek, and yet a brow inspired, 
And a mi,- heart ■ ■! bope, though hope be vain; 




© joyous creatures! that will <i„k t<> rest 

Lightly, when those pure orisons arc done, 
As birds with slumber's honey-dew opprest, 

'Midst the dim-folded leaves at set "f sun- 
Lift up your hearts ! though yet no sorrow lie- 
Dark in the summer-heaven of those clear eyes. 

Though fresh within your breasts th' untroubled 
spring 

Of hope make melody where'er ye tread. 
And o'er your sleep bright shadows, from the wings 

Of spirits visiting but youth, he spread; 



Meekly to bear with wrong. i<> eheer decay, 

And oh! i- love through all thing — therefore pray! 

Ami take the thought .>f this calm vesper-time, 
With its low murmuring sounds and silvery 
light, 

On through the dark days fading fr6m their prime, 
As a sweet dew t" keep your souls from blight: 

Earth will forsake— 0! happy to have given 

Th' unbroken heart's first fragrance unto Heaven! 

Felicia Dorothea Hemans. 



342 



THE KOYAL GALLERY. 



WHAT IS LIFE? 




what 's a life? — a weary pilgrimage, 
Whose glory in one day doth fill the stage 
With childhood, manhood, and decrepit age. 

And what 's a life? — the flourishing array 
Of the proud summer meadow, which to-day 
Wears her green plush, and is to-morrow hay. 

Eead on this dial, how the shades devour 

My short-lived winter's day ! hour eats up hour ; 

Alas! the total 's but from eight to four. 



Behold these lilies, which thy hands have made, 

Fair copies of my life, and open laid 

To view, how soon they droop, how soon they fade! 

Shade not that dial, mglit will blind too soon ; 
My non-aged day already points to noon ; 
How simple is my suit! — how small my boon! 

Not do I beg this slender inch to wile 
The time away or falsely to beguile 
My thoughts with joy : here 's nothing Worth a smile* 
Francis Quarles. 




l man at the heavens is staring, 
Wringing his hands as in sorrowful case.' 

CALM IS THE NIGHT. 



||||ALM is the night, and the city is sleeping, 
fill Once in this house dwelt a lady fair; 
*fK Long, long ago, she left it, weeping— 
Ji But still the old house is standing there. 

Yonder a man at the heavens is staring, 
Wringing his hands as in sorrowful case; 



He turns to the moonlight, his countenance baring — 
O Heaven ! he shows me my own sad face ! 

Shadowy form, with my own agreeing ! 

Why mockest thou thus, in the moonlight cold, 
The sorrows which here once vexed my being, 
Many a night in the days of old? 

Charles Godfrey Leland. 

[ From the German of Heine.] 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



343 



SONG. 

iYaY^!'. sail toward running's lonely ?tar. 
$•01$ Tliat tremble- in tin- lender blue; 
'; . i »ne single cloud, a dusky bar. 

Burnt with dull carmine through and through, 
Slow Bmouldering in the summer -ky. 

Lies low along the fading west; 
How sweet to watch its spleudors die, 
Wave-cradled thus, and wind caressed ! 

The soft breeze freshens; Leaps the spray 
To kiss our cheeks with sudden cheer; 

Upon the dark edge ol the baj 
Light-houses kindle tar and near. 



And through the warm deeps of the sky 
Steal faint star-clusters, while we rest 

In deep refreshment, thou and I. 
Wave-cradled thus, and wind-caressed. 

How like a dream are earth and heaven. 

Star-beam and darkness, sky and sea; 
Thy face, pale in the shadow} even, 

Thy quiet eyes that gaze on mel 
< )b. realize the moment's charm, 

Thou dearest ! W e are at life's best, 
Folded in ' rod's encircling arm, 

Wave-cradled thus, and wind-caressed! 

I ELLA I IIAXTER. 




vcrv lawn, 
u play." 



MAY 



EC 



VS the old glory passed 

From tender May — 
'Of That never the eehoin<r blast 
Of bugle-horns merry, and fast 
Dying away like the past, 

Welcomes the day? 

Has the old Beauty none 
Prom golden May — 
That not any more at dawn 



Over the flowery lawn. 
Or knolls of the forest withdrawn, 
Maid- are at play? 

1- the old freshness dead 

Of the fairy May?— 
Ah! the sad tear-drops unshed! 
Ah! the young maidens unwed! 
Golden locks— cheeks rosy red! 

Ah! where are they? 

John Esten Cooke. 



344 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



PLEASURES OF MEMORY. 



fWILIGHT'S soft dews steal o'er the village green, 
With magic tints to harmonize the scene. 
Stilled is the hum that through the hamletbroke, 
When round the ruins of their ancient oak 
The peasants flocked to hear the minstrel play, 
And games and carols closed the busy day. 

Her wheel at rest, the matron thrills no more 

With treasured tales and legendary lore. 

All, all are fled; nor mirth nor music flows 

To chase the dreams of innocent repose. 

All, all are fled ; yet still I linger here ! 

What secret charms this silent spot endear? 



As o'er my palm the silver piece she drew, 
And traced the line of life with searching view, 
How throbbed my fluttering pulse with hopes and 

fears, 
To learn the color of my future years ! 

******* 
Lulled in the countless chambers of the brain, 
Our thoughts are linked by many a hidden chain. 
Awake but one, and, lo ! what myriads rise ! 
Each stamps its image as the other flies. 
Each, as the various avenues of sense 
Delight or sorrow to the soul dispense, 




'With treasured tales and legendary lore. ! 



Mark yon old mansion frowning through the trees, 
Whose hollow turret wooes the whistling breeze. 
That casement, arched with ivy 's brownest shade, 
Eirst to these eyes the light of heaven conveyed. 
The mouldering gateway strews the grass-grown 

court, 
Once the calm scene of many a simple sport; 
When all things pleased, for life itself was new, 
And the heart promised what the fancy drew. 

Down by yon hazel copse, at evening, blazed 
The gypsy 's fagot, — there we sat and gazed; 
Gazed on her sunburnt face with silent awe, 
Her tattered mantle, and her hood of straw. 



Brightens or fades; yet all, with magic art, 
Control the latent fibres of the heart. 
As studious Prospero's mysterious spell 
Drew every subject-spirit to his cell; 
Each, at thy call, advances or retires, 
As judgment dictates or the scene inspires. 
Each thrills the seat of seuse, that sacred source 
Whence the fine nerves direct their mazy course, 
And through the frame invisibly convey 
The subtle, quick vibrations as they play; 
Man's little universe at once o'ercast. 
At once illumined when the cloud is past. 



SENTIMENT AND RE] LEI nON. 



345 



Hark! the bee « lads her small bul mellow born, 
Blithe i" salute the sunny smile of morn. 
O'er thymy (low Qfi Bbe bends ber bus] course, 
And many a stream' allures her to it- source. 
"J'i- aoon, 'tis night. I hat eye so flnelj wrought, 
Beyond the search oJ sense, the soar "i thought, 
Now vainly asks the scenes she Left behind; 
It- orb so lull, it- vision so confined! 
Who guides the patient pilgrim t'> her cell? 
Who bids ber soul with conscious triumph swell? 
With conscious truth retrace the mazj clew 
Of Buminer-scents, that charmed her as she flew? 
Hail. Memory, bail! thy universal reign 
Guards the leasl link ol Being's glorious chain. 



To meet the changes time and chance present 
With modesl dignity and calm content. 
When thy last breath, ere nature sunk to rest, 
Thy meek submission to tin God expressed; 
When thy last look, ere thought and feeling fled, 
A mingled gleam of hope and triumph shed; 
What to thy bouI it- glad assurance gave, 
It- hope in death, it- triumph o'er the grave? 
The sweet remembrance of unblemished youth, 

The -till inspiring voice oi [m mce and Truth! 

Hail, Memory, hail! in tin exhaustless mine 
From age to age unnumbered treasures shine) 
Thought and her shadow] brood thy call obey, 
And place and time are subject to thy -way! 




" The mouldering gateway strews the grass-grown court." 



Othou! with whom my heart was wont to -hare 
from reason's dawn each pleasure ami each care; 
"With whom, alas! I fondly hoped to know 
The humble walks of happiness below; 

If thy blest nature now unite- above 

An angel's pity with a brother's love, 

Still o*er my life preserve thy mild control. 

Correct my view-, and elevate my soul; 

Grant me thy peace and purity oi mind. 

Devout yet cheerful, active yet resigned; 

Grant me. like thee, whose heart knew no disguise. 

"Whose blameless wishes never aimed to rise, 



Thy pleasures moet we feel when most alone; 
The .,ii]y pleasures we can call our own. 
Lighter than air. hope's summer-visions die, 

li but a fleeting cl 1 obscure the -ky; 

If but a beam ol sober reason play, 
Lo! fancy's fairy frost-work melts away! 
Hut can the wiles of art. the grasp of power, 
Snatch the rich relics of a well-spent hour? 
These, when the trembling spirit wings her flight. 
Pour round her path a stream of living light; 
And gild fyose pure and perfect realms of re-i. 
"Where Virtue triumphs, and her .sons are blest! 

Samuel Kogers 



346 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



A JOY FOREVER. 



g THING of beauty is a joy forever: 
Its loveliness increases; it will never 
Pass iuto nothingness; but still will keep 
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep 
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet 
breathing. 
Therefore, on every morrow are we wreathing 
A flowery band to bind us to the earth, 
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth 
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days, 
Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways 
Made for our searching; yes, in spite of all, 
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall 



From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon. 
Trees old aud young, sprouting a shady boon 
For simple sheep ; and such are daffodils 
With the green world they live in ; and clear rills 
That for themselves a cooling covert make 
'Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest brake, 
Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk -rose blooms: 
And such too is the grandeur of the dooms 
We have imagined for the mighty dead ; 
All lovely tales that we have heard or read : 
An endless fountain of immortal drink, 
Pouring unto us from the Heaven's brink. 

John Keats. 



«. — cG^ Z7" ' r \2 sSo- 



'TIS THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER. 



IE|IS the last rose of summer 
sk Left blooming alone; 
*f f v All her lovely companions 



)l 



Are faded and gone ; 
No flower of her kindred, 

No rosebud is nigh, 
To reflect back her blushes, 

To give sigh for sigh. 

I '11 not leave thee, thou lone one, 

To pine on the stem; 
Since the lovely are sleeping, 

Go sleep thou with them. 



Thus kindly I scatter 

Thy leaves o'er the bed, 
Where thy mates of the garden 

Lie scentless and dead. 

So soon may I follow, 

When friendships decay, 
And from Love's shining circle 

The gems drop away! 
When true hearts lie withered 

And fond Ones are flown, 
Oh ! who would inhabit 

This bleak world alone? 

Thomas Moore. 



THE ISLE OF THE LONG AGO. 



fifVII, a wonderful stream is the River Time, 
llHf! As it flows through the realm of Tears, 
||? With a faultless rhythm and a musical rhyme, 
<t And a broader sweep and a surge sublime 
As it blends with the ocean of Years. 

How the winters are drifting like flakes of snow - 

And the summers like buds between; 
And the year in the sheaf — so they come and they go 
On the River's breast with its ebb and flow, 

As they glide in the shadow and sheen. 

There 's a magical Isle up the River lime 

Where the softest of airs are playing; 
There 's a cloudless sky and a tropical clime, 
And a voice as sweet as a vesper chime, 

And the Junes with the roses are staying 

And the name of this Isle is the Long Agq, 
And we bury our treasures there ; 



There are brows of beauty and bosoms of snow — 
They are heaps of dust, but we loved them so 1 
There are trinkets and tresses of hair. 

There are fragments of song that nobody sings, 

And a part of an infant's prayer, 
There 's a harp unswept and a lute without strings, 
There are broken vows and pieces of rings, 

And the garments that she used to wear. 

There are hands that are waved when the fairy shore 

By the mirage is lifted in air"; 
And we sometimes hear through the turbulent roar 
Sweet voices we heard in the days gone before, 

When the wind down the River is fair. 

Oh. remembered for aye be the blessed Isle 

All the day of our life till night. 
And when evening comes with its beautiful smile, 
And our eyes are closing in slumber awhile, 

May that "Greenwood" of soul be in sight. 

Benjamin F. Tayxor. 



SENTDIEXT AND REFLECTION. 



347 



HOPE. 



fflJP'T summer eve, when Heaven's ethereal bow 
gjwSs Spans with bright arch theglitteriug hills below, 
■<\ to yon ii main turns the musing eye, 

\\ hose Bun-brighl summit mingles \\ itb tin- sky? 
| Why do those cliffs of Bhadowj tint appear 

.More sweet iIkui.iII ihe l:nnl-e:i| te Bmiling near? 
'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view. 
And robes the mountain in its azure hue. 
Thus, with delight, we linger to Burvey 
The promised joys ol life's unmeasured wa> ; 
Thus, from afar, each dim-discovered Bcene 
More pleasing seems than all the past hath been, 



And every form, thai Fancy can repair 
From dark oblivion, glows divinely there. 

* 
Eternal Hope! wh.-n yonder spheres sublime 
Peeled their flret notes to Bound the march of Time, 
Thy joyous youth began,— but not to fade. 
When all the Bister planets haw decayed; 
When wrapt in fire the realms of ether glow, 
And Heaven '8 last thunder -hake- the world below; 
Thou, undismayed, shall o'er the ruins smile, 
And light thj torch at Nature's funeral pile. 

Thomas Campbell. 




o 



TO A CHILD. 



ir. while from me. this tender morn depart 
Dreams, vague and vain and wild, 

Sing, happy child, and dance into my heart. 
Where I was once a child. 



Tour eyes they send the butterflies before, 

Your lipa they kiss the rose; 
gentle child, joy ope- your morning door — 

Joy blesses your repose! 



The fairy Echo-Children love you. try 

To steal your loving voice; 
Flying you laugh— they, laughingwhileyoufly, 

Gay with your glee rejoice. 

Oh, while from me, this tender morn depart 

Dreams vague and vain and wild. 
Play, happy child — ing, dance, within my heart, 

Where i will be a child! 

John James Piatt. 



348 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



SONNET. 



JAY follows day; years perish; still mine eyes 
Are opened on the self-same round of space; 
Yon fadeless forests in their Titan grace, 
And the large splendors of those opulent 'skies. 
I watch, unwearied, the miraculous dyes 
Of dawn or sunset ; the soft boughs which lace 
Round some coy Dryad in a lonely place, 
Thrilled with low whispering and strange sylvan sighs : 



His clear child's soul finds something sweet and new 
Even in a weed's heart, the carved leaves of corn, 
The spear-like grass, the silvery rime of morn, 
A cloud rose-edged, and fleeting stars at night! 

Paul Hamilton Hayne 




Weary ! 
And oft 



' Yon fadeless forests in their Titan grace.' 

The poet's mind is fresh as dew, 
refilled as fountains of the light. 



LIFE'S INCONGRUITIES. 

sREEX grows the laurel on the bank, 

Dark waves the pine upon the hill, 
Green haugs the lichen, cold aud dank, - 

Dark springs the hearts-ease by the rill, 
Age-mosses clamber ever bright, 

Pale is the water-lily's bloom : 
Thus life still courts the shades of night, 

And beauty hovers o'er the tomb. 

So, all through life, incongruous hue 

Each object wears from childhood down; 
The evanescent ■ — heaven's blue, 

The all-enduring — sober brown ; 
Our brightest dreams too quickly die, 

And griefs are green that should be old, 
And joys that sparkle to the eye 

Are like a tale that's quickly told. 

And yet 'tis but the golden mean 

That checks our lives' unsteady flow; 
God's counterbalance thrown between, 

To poise the scale 'twixt joy and woe: 
And better so ; for were the bowl 

Too freely to the parched lip given, 
Too much of grief would crush the soul, 

Too much of joy would wean from heaven. 

Egbert Phelps. 



EQUINOCTIAL. 



3|HE sun of life has crossed the line; 

The summer-shine of lengthened light 
Faded and failed — till, where I stand, 
'Tis equal day and equal night. 

One after one as dwindling hours, 
Youth's glowing hopes have dropped away, 

And soon may barely leave the gleam 
That coldly scores a winter's day. 

I am not young — I am not old ; 

Thcflush of morn, the sunset calm, 
Paling and deepening, each to each. 

Meet midway with a solemn charm. 



One side I see the summer fields, 
Not yet disrobed of all their green , 

While westerly, along the hills, 
Flame the first tints of frosty sheen. 

Ah, middle-point, where cloud and storm 
Make battle-ground of this my life ! 

Where, even matched, the night and day 
Wage round me their September strife. 

I bow me to the threatening gale : 

I know when that is overpast, 
Among the peaceful harvest days 

An Indian Summer comes at last. 

Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney. 



H.N MM I \ l WD REFLECTION. 



349 



CIRCUMSTAN* E. 



W< > children in two neighbor villages 
ria\ ing mad pranks along the healthy leas; 
Two Btrangers meeting al a festival ; 
Two lovers whispering by an orchard wall; 
Two lives bound fasl in one with golden east 



rwo graves grass-green beside a gray church-tower. 

tt:i.h.-.| with Mill raii.-ami.lai.j -I, |, ...,.„„.,. 

1 " A " children in one hamlel born and bred- 
So runs the round ol lifefr hour to hour 



LLKBED I i NOTSON. 




"The nightingale, whose melody is through the green-wood ringing." 

THE ROSE UPON MY BALI ONY. 

jrTY-HE ros, „,>„„ mv hal , v . „„, morning ;li] . ,„.,.. Am , h M;l , ,„„,.,,„, ; ,. k ,„ „„. ,,„. ,,,,.„„ ,,, ,„_ . 

r^s fuming, mgi 6 

-{■■ Vvas leafless aU the winter-time and piningfor l" is because the sun i- ou( and all the h 

the spring; green. 

Yon ask me whj her breath Is sweet, and whv her m 

cheek is blooming: rhus each performs his part, Mamma: the birds have 

It la because the sun is out and birds begin to sine. -,-, fonnd their vo jces, 

1 he blow ing rose a flush, Mamma, her bonny check to 

The nightingale, whose melody is through the green- » ,.','" '• 

woodrineW u"- e 'ceu And there's sunshine in my heart, Mamma, which 

■,,- ., , ~ «J' waken- and rejoices. 

Was sileni when the boughs wore bare and winds \,„i ,, i ;„ , , , , , ' . Ar 

were blow ing keen. . *"* B ° V w j[y ' ' "*" 

William Makepeace Thackeray. 



350 



THE KOYAL GALLERY. 



THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR 



5ULL knee-deep lies the winter snow, 
And the winter winds are wearily sighing: 
Toll ye the church -hell sad and slow- 
And tread softly and speak low, 
For the old year lies a-dying. 



He was full of joke and jest, 
But all his merry quips are o'er. 
To see him die, across the waste 
His son and heir doth ride post-1 
But he '11 be dead before. 




Old year, you must not die; 
You came to us so readily. 
You lived with us so steadily, 
Old year, you shall not die. 

He lieth still : he doth not move : 

He will not see the dawn of day. 

He hath no other life above. 

He gave me a friend, and a true true-love 

And the New-year will take 'em away. 

Old year, you must not go ; 

So long as you have been with us, 

Such joy as you have seen with us, 

Old year, you shall not go. 

He frothed his bumpers to the brim ; 
A jollier year we shall not see. 
But, though his eyes are waxing dim, 
And though his foes speak ill of him, 
He was a friend to me. 

Old year, you shall not die ; 

We did so laugh and cry with you, 

I 've half a mind to die with you, 

Old year, if you must die. 



"Full knee-deep lies the winter snow." 

Every one for his own. 
The night is starry and cold, my friend, 
And the New-year, blithe and bold, my friend, 
Comes up to take his own. 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



35 ¥ , 



llnw hard he breathes I overthe snow 
I heard just now the crow ing cock. 
The shadows dicker to and fro : 
The crickel chirps: the light burns low: 
•Ms nearly twelve o clock. 

shako hands before 3 ou die. 

Old year, we '11 dearly rue for yon: 

What i- il we ran do for J OU? 

Speak "in before j ou die. 



HOPE. 



HAT song Is well sung, nol oi sorrow ? 
w bat triumph well won without pain? 
What virtue shall be, and not borrow 
Bright lustre from manj a stain? 

What birth has there 1 n without travail? 

What battle well won without blood? 
What g I Bhall earth see, without evil 

[ngarnered as chaff with the good? 

Lol the Cross set In rocks bj the Roman, 
And nourished by blood of the Lamb, 

And watered by tears of the woman, 
Has nourished, has spread like a palm ; 



Bis face is growing sharp and thin. 

Alack! our friend is gone. 

Close < 1 1 • his eyes : tie up his chin: 

Step from ih rpse, and let him in 

That standeth then- alone, 

And waitetb at the door. 

There 's a new toot on the floor, my friend 

And a new face' at the door, my friend, 

A new face at the door. 

\l.l'i:i n Cenntson. 



Sas spread in the frosts, and far regions 
Oi -now- in the (forth, and South sands, 

Where never the tramp ol his legions 
Was heard, nor has reached forth his red hands. 

15c thankful ; the price and the paj ment, 
The birth, the privations and scorn, 

Tin- cross, and the parting ol raiment, 
Are finished, [he star broughl as morn. 

Look starward; -land far ami unearthy, 

Free-souled as a banner unfurled; 
Be worthj . < » brother, be worth] ! 

For a God was the price ol the world. 

JOAQl is Mil. U.K. 



ALAS! EOW LIGHT A CAUSE MAY MOVE. 



VS! how light a cause may move 
Dissension between hearts thill love! 
Hearts that the world in vain bus tried. 
Ami Borrow but more closely tied; 
Thai stood the storm \\ hen waves were rough 
Yet in a sunny hour fall off, 
Like -hip- 1 ha 1 have gone down at sea, 
When heaven was all tranquillity! 

A something light as air. - a look, 
A word unkind or wrongly taken, — 

0, love that tempests never shook, 
A breath, a touch like this has shaken! 

And ruder words "ill Boon rush In 

To spread the breach that word- begin; 

And c\ es forget the gentle ray 

They wore in courtship's smiling day; 

And voices lose the tone that shed 

A tenderness round all they said; 

'fill fast declining, one by one, 

The >\veetnesses of love are gone, 



And In-art-, -.1 lately mingled, 5e< 111 

I. ike broken clouds,- - or like the stream, 
That smiling li 11 the mountain's brow. 
A- though ii- 9 an- - ne'er could sever, 

Yet, ere it reach the plain bc]o\\. 

Breaks into floods that pan forever. 



< 1 \ on. that have the charge ol Love, 

Keep him in rosj bondage bound, 
A- in the field- oi Bliss above 

lie -ii-. with flowerets fettered round; — 
I.o.,-e not a tie that round him clings, 
Nor ever let him use hi- « ings; 
For even an hour, a minute's iliirlit 
Will rob the illume- of hah their luj 
Like that celestial bird, — whose ucst 

I- found beneath far Eastern -kie.s, — 
Whose wings, il gh radiant when at rest, — 

Lose all their elory when he flies! 



Thomas Moore. 



~Y7>I'.AS()\ as the princess, dwell- in the highest and inwardest room; the senses are 
<AV the guards and attendants on the court, without whose aid nothing is admitted 
into the presence; the supreme faculties are the Peers; the outward parts and inward 
affections are the Commons. 



352 



THE EOYAL GALLERY. 



THE LIBRARY. 



days among the dead are pass'd ; 

Around me I behold, 
Where'er these casual eyes are cast, 

The mighty minds of old ; 
My never-failing friends are they 
With whom I converse night and day. 



My thoughts are with the dead, with them 

I live in long-past years, 
Their virtues love, their faults condemn, 

Partake their griefs and fears ; 
And from their sober lessons find 
Instruction with a humble mind. 




With them I take delight in weal, 
A.nd seek relief in woe ; 

And while I understand and feel 
How much to them I owe, 

My cheeks have often been bedewed 

With tears of thoughtful gratitude. 



My hopes are with the dead : anon 

With them my place will be; 
And T with them shall travel on 

Through all futurity; 
Yet leaving here a name, I trust, 
Which will not perish in the dust. 

Robert Southey. 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



353 



WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE. 



,wT(Hi[)M\\. -parr thai tree! 

Touch not a Blagle bought 
In youth it sheltered me, 

Ami i "II protect il ii"U . 

"r was my forefathi r'a hand 

That placed il mar hi- COt; 

There, « Lman, let ii stand, 

Thy axe shall harm it not ! 



H 



When 1>ui an ldl< 

sougnt i;- grateful shade; 
In all their gushing joj 

Here too my sisters plaj ed. 
My mother kissed me here; 

M> father pressed mj hand- 
Forgive this foolish tear 

But let that old oak stand! 




" When lmt an id 

I sought it- grateful shade; 

In all tlu ii 
Here too my »i ;■ 



Thai old familiar tree, 

\\ hose glory and renown 
Are spread o'er land and sea: 

And would'st thou hew it down? 
Woodman, forbear thy stroke! 

Cut imt its earth-hound ties; 
Oh, spare that aged oak, 

Now towering to the skies! 



My heart-strings round thee cling, 

Close as thy bark, old friend! 
Here shall the wild-bird sing. 

And still thy branches bend. 
Old tree! the storm still brave! 

And, w lman, leave the spot; 

While 1 *ve a hand to save. 

Thy ax shall harm it not. 

George P. Morris. 



ate 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



SMALL BEGINNINGS. 



TRAVELER through a dusty road strewed He walled it in, and hung with care a ladle at the 

acorns on the lea, brink, 

And one took root and sprouted up, and grew He thought not of the deed he did, but ludged that 
* into a tree. toil might drink. 

I Love sought its shade, at evening time, to He passed again, and lo ! the well, by summers never 
^ breathe its early vows : dried, 

And age was pleased, in heats of noon, to bask be- Had cooled ten thousand parching tongues, and saved 
neath its boughs ; a life beside. 



: 



M 



■B 



/ ':^^^^M^M 




v 

. . . ,. , • 

■ ■ -.v.- ' ■■:',' '' ; ; 

. - 




It stood a glory in its place, 
A blessing evermore." 



The dormouse loved its dangling twigs, the birds a dreamer dropped a random thought; 'twas old. 

sweet music bore ; and yet , t was new . 

It stood a glory in its place, a blessing evermore. A gimple fancy of the brain but strong in be i ng 

A little spring had lost its way amid the grass and true - 

fern, It shone upon a genial mind, and lo! its light 
A passing stranger scooped a well, where weary men became 

might turn; A lamp of life, a beacon ray, a monitory flame. 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



355 



The thought waa small; its issue great; a watch-fire a whisper on the tumult thrown, — a transitory 

ou the hill. breath,— 

Ii sheds its radiance faradown, and cheers the valley It raised a brother from the dusl ; il saved a soul from 

still! death. 

Ogerm! fount! Owordoi love! thought at ran- 
A nameless man. amid a crowd thai thronged the dom cast! 

daily mart, y e were i, m Little al the first, bul mighty at the last 
Let fall a word ol Hope and Love, unstudied, from 

the heart ; 



« HAKLES Mai KA1 , 



BONG. 



^TV SPIRIT n1 tin- -Mimmrr- 
\l/ Urini; li:i.k tin' !•■•-<•- ii 



■time! 
the dells; 
The -wallow from ber dlstanl clime, 
The bonej -hee from drow sj cells. 

Bring back the friendship of the sun; 
The elided evenings, calm and late, 



When merrj children homeward run, 
And peeping Btars bid lovers wait. 

Bring back the singing; and th< - 
< • *adow-lands al dewj pri ;— 

Oh bring again my heart's content, 
1 1 - Summer-time! 

Will. I \.M Al.LIM.IIAM. 




THE i:i\ i:i; 



<;r wdi.v flowing Riverl 

o silver-gliding River! 

Thy springing willows Bhiver 

In tin' sunsel as of old; 
They shiver in the silence 
Of the willow-whitened islands, 
While the Bun-hars and the sand-bars 

Fill air ami wave with gold. 

O gray, oblivious Riverl 
O sunset-kindled Riverl 
Do ymi remember ever 
The eyes and skies bo blue 



On a summer daj thai shone here, 

When we were all al here, 

And the bl syes were too n ise 

To speak the love thej knew? 

o stern. Impassive Riverl 
o .till ananswering Riverl 
The shivering w lllow - quiver 

\- the night-winds moan and rave. 
From the pasl a voice Is calling, 
From heaven a star is falling, 
And dew swells In the bluebells 

Above the hillside grave. 

John Hay. 



II* il'K. 



|N hope a king doth go to war. 
» In hope a lover lives full long; 
In hope a merchant sails full far, 
In hope just men do suffer wrong: 



In hope the ploughman sows his seed: 
Thus hope helps thousands at their need. 
Then faint not, heart, among the rest; 
Whatever chance, hope thou the best. 

Richard Alison. 



356 



THE EOYAL GALLEEY. 



FIDELITY. 



BARKING sound the shepherd hears, 

A cry as of a dog or fox; 
He halts and searches with his eyes 

Among the scattered rocks : 
And now at distance can discern 
A stirring iu a brake of fern; 
And instantly a dog is seen, 
Glancing through that covert green. 



It was a cove, a huge recess, 

That keeps till June December's snow; 
A lofty precipice in front, 

A silent tarn below ! 
Far in the bosom of Helvellyn, 
Remote from public road or dwelling, 
Pathway, or cultivated land, 
From trace of human foot or hand. 




: The dog had watched about the spot, 
Or by his master's side." 



The dog is not of mountain breed ; 

Its motions, too, are wild and shy, 
With something, as the shepherd thinks, 

Unusual in its cry. 
Nor is there any one in sight 
All round, in hollow, or on height; 
TSTor shout, nor whistle, strikes the ear: 
"What is the creature doing here? 



There, sometimes, doth the leaping fish 
Send through the tarn a lonely cheer; 

The crag repeats the raven's croak, 
In symphony austere ; 

Thither the rainbow comes, — the cloud, 

And mists that spread the flying shroud; 

And sunbeams, and the sounding blast, 

That, if it could, would hurry past; 

But that enormous barrier binds it fast. 



SENTIMENT AND BEFLE< HON. 



357 



Not free from boding thoughts, a while 
The shepherd stood; tlx-n makes his 
way 

Towards the dog, o'er rocks and stones, 
a- quickly as he may: 

Nol far bad gone before be found 

A human skeleton on i be ground ! 

Th' appalled discoverer, with a -iu r h. 

Looks round to Learn the history. 

From those abrupt and perilous rocks 

The man bad fallen, — that place 
At length, upon the shepherd's mind 

It breaks, and all i- clear; 
ll>- Lustantlj recalled the name, 
Vud who he was, ami whence be rani'-: 
Bemembered, too. the ver) <la> 
On which the traveler passed this way. 



But bear a wonder, for whose sake 

This lamentable tali- 1 tell! 
a lasting monument of words 

This wonder merits well. 
The dog. which -tin was hovering* nigh, 

ing Hi'- -am.- timid cry, — 
This dog had been, through three months' 

spac< . 
A dweller in that savage place. 

Yes, prool was plain, that since that 'lay. 

When this ill-fated traveler died, 
■ I watched about th'- spot, 

Or bj hi- master's side: 
How nourished here, through such long dme, 
II.- knows, who gave that love sublime; 
And gave that strength "i feeling, g 
Above all human estim 

\\ ll-l.t wt W OBDSWOB i ii. 



3 ■ 
TOWARD HOME. 



JEIGHT flag at yonder tapering 

Fling out your field •■! azure Mm-: 
Let star and stripe !>'• westward cast, 

And point as freedom's eagle flew ! 
Strain borne! < > lithe and quivering 
Point home, my country's flag of stars! 
My mother, In thy prayer to-night 

There come new words and warmer tears; 
On long, Long darkness breaks the Light, 

Comes home the Loved, the Lost tor years. 



Bleep Bale, • » wave-worn mariner! 

Fear not to-night, or storm 
The ear of heaven bends l ■ ■ w 

He -ail- I., shore who sails with me. 
The wind-tossed spider needs no token 

How stands the tree when lightnings blaze; 
And, bj a thread from heaven unbroken, 

I know my ther Lives and 

N.VI11AM1 t Pabkeb Willis. 



LINES. 



'hi N last year the maple bud was swelling, 

w hen last the crocus bloomed below . 
I Thj beart to mine it- love was telling; 
Thy soul with mine kepi ebb and flow : 
Again the maple bud Is swelling, 

Again the crocus blooms below: — 
In heaven thy heart its Love i- telling, 
But -till our souls keep ebb and flow . 



When last the April bloom was flinging 

Sweet "dors on the air ol spring, 
In forest ai-l<'- thy voice was ringing, 

Where th lidsl « itli the red-bird sing. 

Again the \ | >i i I bloom i- iliuging 

Sweet odors on the air of spring, 
But now in heaven thj voice is rinsing, 

Where thou dost with the angels sing. 

William D. G U.LAOHEB. 



St 



A LITTLE WORD IN KINDNESS SPOKEN. 



ITTLE word in kindness spoken. 
A motion or a tear. 
Has often healed the heart that's broken. 
And made a friend sincere. 

A word, a look, has crushed to earth 
Full many a budding flower. 



Which, had a smile but owned its birth. 
Would bless life's darkest hour. 

Then deem it not an idle thing 

A pleasant word to speak; 
The faee you wear, the thoughts you bring, 

A heart may heal or break. 

COLESWORTHT. 



358 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 




THE WAT TO SING. 



E birds must know. Who wisely sings 

Will sing as they. 
The common air has generous wings : 
Songs make their way. 



to run before, 

Devising plan; 
No mention of the place, or hour, 

To any man ; 
No waiting till some sound beta-ays 

A listening ear ; 
No different voice, no new delays, 

If steps draw near. 

"What bird is that? The song is 
good." 
_ g=k And eager eyes 

S^JBk Go peering through the dusky wood 
In glad surprise. 



m 



Then, late at night, when by 
his Are, 

The traveler sits, 
Watching the flame grow 
brighter, higher, 

The sweet song flits, 
itches, through his weary brain, 
To help him rest; 
next he goes that road again, 
An empty nest 

bough will make him sigh : 
"Ah me ! last spring, 
e I heard, in passing by, 
That rare bird sing." 

But while he sighs, remembering 

How sweet the song, 
The little bird, on tireless wing, 

Is borne along 
In other air ; and other men, 

With weary feet. 
On other roads, the simple slrain 

Are finding sweet. 

The birds must know. Who wisely sings 

Will sing as they. 
The common air has generous wings : 

Songs make their way. 

Helen Hunt Jackson (H. H.). 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 

THE FIRST TRYST. 



359 



pulls a rose from her rose-tree, 
Kissing its soul to him,— 
Far over years, far over dreams 
And tides of chances dim. 

Be plucks from his bear! a poem, 
A flower-sweet mi offer. — 



Far over years, far over dreams, 
Flatten it- soul to her. 

These are the world-old lovers, 
i Hasped in « .in- twilight's gleam; 

Yel he is bul :i dream to her 
And she a poet's dream. 

John James Piatt. 







$MN 



Ye distant ;.[>irc~, yi 

That crown the watery glujc." 



ODE ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE. 



?E distant spire*, ye antique towers, 
That crown the watery glade, 
Where grateful Science still adores 

Her Henry's holy shade; 
And ye that from the stately brow 
Of Windsor's heights the expanse below 
Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey, 
Whose tnrf, whose shade, whose flowers among 
Wanders the hoary Thames along 
His silver-winding way : 



Ah. happy hills ! ah pleasing shade ! 

Ah. fields beloved in vain! 
Where once my careless childhood strayed, 

A stranger yet to pain! 
I feel the gales that from ye blovi 
A momentary bliss bestow . 

As waving fresh their gladsome wing, 
My weary soul they seem to soothe, 
And, redolent of joy and youth, 

To breathe a second spring. 



360 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seen 

Full many a sprightly race 
Disporting on thy margent green, 

The paths of pleasure trace ; 
Who foremost now delight to cleave, 
With pliant arm, thy glassy wave? 

The captive linnet which enthrall? 
What idle progeny succeed 
To chase the rolling circle's speed, 

Or urge the flying hall? 

While some on earnest business bent 

Their murmuring labors ply 
'Gainst graver hours that bring constraint 

To sweeten liberty : 
Some bold adventurers disdain 
The limits of their little reign, 

And unknown regions dare descry : 
Still as they run they look behind, 
They hear a voice in every wind, 

And snatch a fearful joy. 

Gay hope is theirs by fancy fed, 

Less pleasing when possest ; 
The tear forgot as soon as shed, 

The sunshine of the breast: 
Theirs buxom health of rosy hue, 
Wild wit, invention ever new, 

And lively cheer of vigor born ; 
The thoughtless day, the easy night, 
The spirits pure, the slumbers light. 

That fly the approach of morn. 

Alas ! regardless of their doom, 

The little victims play ; 
No sense have they of ills to come, 

Nor care beyond to-day : 
Yet see how all around them wait 
The ministers of human fate. 

And black Misfortune's baleful train! 
Ah, show them where in ambush stand. 
To seize their prey, the murderous band ! 

Ah, tell them they are men ! 



These shall the fury Passions tear, 

The vultures of the mind, 
Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear, 

And Shame that skulks behind ; 
Or pining Love shall waste their youth, 
Or Jealousy, with rankling tooth, 

That inly gnaws the secret heart; 
And Envy wan, and faded Care, 
Grim-visaged comfortless Despair, 

And Sorrow's piercing dart. 

Ambition this shall tempt to rise, 

Then whirl the wretch from high, 
To bitter Scorn a sacrifice, 

And grinning Infamy. 
The stings of Falsehood those shall try, 
And hard Unkindness' altered eye, 

That mocks the tear it forced to flow; 
And keen Remorse with blood defiled, 
And moody Madness laughing wild 

Amid severest woe. 

Lo ! in the vale of years beneath 

A grisly troop are seen, 
The painful family of Death, 

More hideous than their queen : 
This racks the joints, this fires the veins, 
That every laboring sinew strains, 

Those in the deeper vitals rage : 
Lo ! Poverty, to fill the band, 
That numbs the soul with icy hand, 

And slow-consuming Age. 

To each his sufferings : all are men, 

Condemned alike to groan ; 
The tender for another's pain, 

The unfeeling for his own. 
Yet, ah ! why should they know their fate, 
Since sorrow never comes too late, 

And happiness too swiftly flies? 
Thought would destroy their paradise. 
ISTo more : where ignorance is bliss, 

'Tis folly to be wise. 

Thomas Gray. 



UPON THE BEACH. 



^HpY life is like a stroll upon the beach, 
«P$§ls As near the ocean's edge as I can go : 
^§§|$ My tardy steps the waves sometimes o'erreach, 
"** Sometimes I stay to let them overflow. 

My sole employment 'tis, and scrupulous care, 
To set my gains beyond the reach of tides — 

Each smoother pebble, and each shell more rare, 
Which ocean kindly to my hand confides. 



I have but few companions on the shore, — 
They scorn the strand who sail upon the sea; 

Yet oft I think the ocean they 've sailed o'er 
Is deeper known upon the strand to me. 

The middle sea contains no crimson dulse, 
Its deeper waves cast up no pearls to view; 

Along the shore my hand is on its pulse, 
And I converse with many a shipwrecked crew. 
Henry David Thoreau. 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



361 



SATISFIED. 



<T5 is unutterably dear, 
God makes to-daj so tair; 

Though Heaven is better,— being here 
I long aol to be there. 

The weights of life are pressing still, 

Not one of them ma;, tali ; 



Yet such strong joys my spirit fill. 
That 1 can bear them all. 

Though I lare and Griei are at my side, 

There would i let them stay, 
And -i ill I"- ever satisfli d 

With beautiful To-day! 

i iiaklotti. FlSKE Hates. 



THINK OF ME. 



;0 where the water glideth gently ever. 

[ Glideth through meadows that the greenest be; 

Go. listen our own beloved river. 

And think of me. 



And when the sky i- silver-pale at even. 

And the wind grievetb in the lonelj tree, 
Walk out beneath the solitary heaven, 

And think of me. 




Wander in forests, where the small flower layeth 

It- fairy gem beneath the giant tree; 
List to the dim brook pining a6 it playeth, 

And think of me. 



■ be. 11 

And when the t i riseth as she were dreaming, 

And treadeth with white feet the lulled - 
Go silent as a star beneath her beaming, 

And think of me. 
John Hamilton Reynold 



ASHES OF ROSES. 



OFT on the sunset sky 
Bright daylight closes, 

Leaving when light doth die. 

Pale hues that mingling lie — 
Ashes of roses. 



When love's warm sun is set, 

Love's brightness closes; 
Eye- with hot tear- are wet, 
In hearts there linger yet 

Ashes of roses. 

Elaine Good ale. 



362 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



FOREVER. 



, ^];^. 



aBI|j|HOSE we love truly never die, 
gab Though year by year the sad memorial wreath, 
*§f^ A ring and flowers, types of life and death, 
J4> Are laid upon their graves. 

For death the pure life saves, 
And life all pure is love ; and love can reach 
From heaven to earth, and nobler lessons teach 

Than those by mortals read. 

Well blest is he who has a dear one dead : 
A friend he has whose face will never change — 



A dear communion that will not grow strange ; 
The anchor of a love is death. 

The blessed sweetness of a loving breath 
Will reach our cheek all fresh through weary years. 
For her who died long since, ah ! waste not tears, 

She 's thine unto the end. 



Thank God for one dear friend, 
With face still radiant with the light of truth, 
Whose love comes laden with the scent of youth, 

Through twenty years of death. 

John Boyle O'Reillt. 



•o-^-^-»— - 



THE BELLS OF SHANDON. 



sITH deep affection 
2 And recollection 
j I often think of 

Those Shandon bells, 
Whose sounds so wild would, 
In the days of childhood, 
Fling round my cradle 
Their magic spells. 

On this I ponder 
Where'er I wander, 
And thus grow fonder, 

Sweet Cork, of thee, — 
With thy bells of Shandon, 
That sound so grand on 
The pleasant waters 

Of the river Lee. 



I've heard bells tolling 
" Old Adrian's Mole " in, 
Their thunder rolling 

From the Vatican, 
And cymbals glorious, 
Swinging uproarious 
In the gorgeous turrets 

Of Notre Dame; 

But the sounds were sweeter 
Than the dome of Peter 
Fliugs o'er the Tiber, 

Pealing solemnly; — 
O, the bells of Shandon 
Sound far more grand on 
The pleasant waters 

Of the river Lee. 



I've heard bells chiming 
Full many a clime in. 
Tolling sublime in 

Cathedral shrine, 
While at a glib rate 
Brass tongues would vibrate; 
But all their music 

Spoke naught like thine. 

For memory, dwelling 
On each proud swelling 
Of the belfry, knelling 

Its bold notes free, 
Made the bells of Shandon 
Sound far more grand on 
The pleasant waters 

Of the river Lee. 



There 's a bell in Moscow, 
While on tower and kiosk O 
In St. Sophia 

The Turkman gets, 
And loud in air 
Calls men to prayer, 
From the tapering summit 

Of tall minarets. 

Such empty phantom 
I freely grant them ; 
But there is an anthem 

More dear to me. — 
'Tis the bells of Shandon, 
That sound so grand on 
The pleasant waters 

Of the river Lee. 

Francis Mahony (Father Prout). 



SENTIMENT AND KK1 I.l 



363 



HEARTS THAT HUNGER. 



|OME hearts go hungering through tin- world, 

"; And never find the love they Beek; 

Some lips witb i n i< i • - or scorn are curled, 

To hide the pain they may not speak; 

The eye may fiash, the mouth maj smile, 

The voice in gladdest music thrill, 

And yel beneath them all the while, 

The hungn hearl be pining still. 



o eager eyes which gaze afar! 

o arms which cla6p the empty air. 
Nol ail unmarked your sorrows arc 

N ; ill unpitied your despair. 
Smile, patient lips, so proudly dumb; 

When life'sfrail tent at last is furled, 
Four glorious recompense shall come 

hearts that hunger through the world 1 




1 SAW TWO CLOUDS AT MORNING. 



SAW two clouds at morning, 

Tinged with the rising sun, 
And in the dawn they floated on, 

And mingled into one; 
I thought thai morning cloud was blest, 
it moved so sweetly t<. the west. 
I saw two summer currents 

Plow smoothly to their meeting, 
And join their course, with silenl force, 

In peace each other greeting; 



Calm was their course through banks of green, 
While dimpling eddies played betwi 

Such he your gentle motion. 

Till life's lasl pulse shall beat; 
Like summer's beam and summer's stream, 

Float "ii in joy to meet 
A calmer sea w here storms shall cease. 
A purer sky where all is peace. 

John G. C. Bkaixakd. 



364 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



SELF-DEPENDENCE. 



jEARY of myself, aad sick of asking 
What 1 am and what I ought to be, 
At this vessel's prow I stand, which bears me 
Forward, forward, o'er the star-lit sea. 

And a .look of passionate desire 

O'er thd B ea and to the stars I send . 

"Ye who from my childhood have calmed rac, 

Calm me, ah, compose me to the end ! 

"Ah, once more," I cried, "ye stars, ye waters, 
On my heart your mighty charm renew, - 
Still, still let me, as I gaze upon you, 
Feel my soul becoming vast like you ! " 

From the intense, clear, star-sown vault of heaven, 
Over the lit sea's unquiet way, 
In the rustling night-air came the answer : 
"Would' st thou be as these are? Live as thev. 



"Unaffrighted by the silence round them, 
Undisturbed by the sights they see, 
These demand not that the things without them 
Yield them love, amusement, sympathy. 

"And with joy the stars perform their shining- 
And the sea its long moon-silvered roll, 
For self-poised they live, nor pine with noting 
All the fever of some differing soul. 

"Bounded by themselves, and unregardful 
In what state God's other works may be, ' 
On their own tasks all their powers pouring, 
These attain the mighty life you see." 

O air-born voice ! long since, severely clear, 
A cry like thine in my own heart I hear : 
"Resolve to be thyself; and know that he 
Who finds himself, loses his misery ! " 

Matthew Arnold. 



DATS OF MY YOUTH. 



iliiAYS of my youth, ye have glided away . 
«£&# Hairs of my youth, ye are frosted and gray : 
*fjp Eyes of my youth, your keen sight is no more : 
H Cheeks of my youth, ye are furrowed all o'er : 
Strength of my youth, all your vigor is gone : 
Thoughts of my youth, your gay visions are 
flown. 

Day of my youth, I wish not your recall: 
Hairs of my youth, I'm content ye should fall : 
Eyes of my youth, ye much evil have seen : 



Cheeks of my youth, bathed in tears you have been i 
Thoughts of my youth, you have led me astray: 
Strength of my youth, why lament your decay? 

Days of my age, ye will shortly be past: 
Pains of my age, yet awhile you can last : 
Joys of my age, in true wisdom delight : 
Eyes of my age, be religion your light : 
Thoughts of my age, dread ye not the cold sod : 
Hopes of my age, be ye fixed on your God. 

St. George Tucker. 



AIJLD LANG SYNE. 



ii^HOULD auld acquaintance be forgot, 
|§1! And never brought to min'? 
7§f< Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 
J4 And days o' lang syne. 

For auld lang syne, my dear, 

For auld lang syne, 
We '11 take a cup o' kindness yet, 
For auld lang syne. 

We twa hae rin about the braes, 

And pu'd the gowans fine ; 
But we 've wandered mony a weary foot 

Sin' auld lang syne. 

For auld lang syne, etc. 

We twa hae paidl't i' the burn, 
Frae mornin' sun till dine; 



But seas between us braid hae roared 
Sin' auld lang syne. 

For auld lang syne, etc. 

And here's a hand, my trusty fier, 

And gie 's a hand o' thiDe; 
And we '11 take a right guid willie-waugi". 

For auld lang syne. 

For auld lang syne, etc. 

And surely ye '11 be your pint-stowp, 

And surely I'll be mine; 
And we '11 take a cup o' kindness yet 

For auld lang syne. 

For auld lang syne, etc. 

Robert Burns. 




TCEBE'8 NO TRUSTING MEN 



SENTIMENT AND REFLEl HON. 



365 



HARMLESS fellow, wasting useless days, 
Am I; 1 low ni> comfort and mj leisure; 
Let those who wish them toil foi gold 



praise; 
To me the summer day brings more of pleasure 

So, here upon the grass, l lie 

While solemn voices from the pasl are calling, 
Mingled witli rustling whispers in the trees, 

Ami pleasant sounds ol water idlj falling. 



LAZY 

There was a time, perhaps, when 1 had thought 
To make- a name, u borne, a brighl existence, 

and Km time has shown thai mj dreams an 

naught, 
Jave a mirage that vanished with ihe distance. 



Well, it i- gone: 1 tare no Longer now 

For fame, for fortune, or for empty praises; 
Rather than wear a crown upon mj brow, 
'I 'II lie forever bere among the daisies. 




n the gTas*, 



There was a time when 1 had higher aims 

Than thus to He among the flowers and listen 
To listening birds, or watch the sunset's flames 

Ou the hroad river's surfa.ee glow and glisten. 



So you, w ho wish for fame, good frieml. pass by, 

\\ nil you I Burely cannol think to quarrel; 
Give me peace, rest, this hank whereon l lie, 
And spare me both the labor and the laurel! 

Geow<:i Arnold. 



WE HAVE BEEN FRIENDS TOGETB ER. 



have been friend- together, 

In sunshine and in shade, 
since Aral beneath the ehcstmit-trees 

In infancy we played. 
But coldness dwells within thy heart, 

A cloud is on thy brow; 
We have been friends together, 

Shall a light word part us now? 

We have been gay together, 
We have laughed at little jests; 

For the fount of hope was gushing 
Warm and joyous in our breasts. 



Rut laughter now hath tied thy lip. 
And sullen glooms thy brow; 

We have hern gay together,— 
Shall a light word pari us now? 

We have been sad together, — 

\\ i- have wept with hitler lea.i- 
O'er ihe grass-grow n graves « here slumbered 

The hope- of early years. 
The voices which weie silent there 

Would bid thee elear thy brow; 
We have heeu sad together, — 

O, what shall part us now? 
Cakoi.ink Elizabeth Sarah Nokton. 



36G 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



A NAME IN THE SAND 



$LONE I walked the ocean strand, 
A pearly shell was in my hand : 
I stooped and wrote upon the sand 

My name, the year and day : — 
As onward from the spot I passed, 
One lingering look behind I cast, — 
A wave came rolling high and fast, 

And washed my line away. 

And so, methought, 't will quickly \ 
With every mark on earth with me : 
A wave of dark oblivion's sea 
Will sweep across the place 



Where I have trod the sandy shore 
Of time, and been to be no more — 
Of me, my day, the name I bore, 
To leave no track or trace. 

And yet, with Him who counts the sands, 
And holds the water in his hands, 
I know a lasting record stands, 

Inscribed against my name, 
Of all this mortal part has wrought, 
Of all this thinking soul has thought, 
And from these fleeting moments caught, 

For glory or for shame. 

Georue D. Prentice. 




'And I thought of the trees under which we had strayed." 



ON VISITING A SCENE OF CHILDHOOD. 



,-ONG years have elapsed since I gazed on the 
^p scene, 

^fp Which my fancy still robed in its freshness of 
&■ green - 

® The spot where, a school-boy, all thoughtless I 
j strayed 

By the side of the stream, in the gloom of the shade. 

Ithoughtof the friends who had roamed with me there, 
When the sky was so blue and the flowers were so 

fair, — 
All scattered — all sundered by mountain and wave, 
And some in the silent embrace of the grave! 



I thought of the green banks, that circled around, 
With wild-flowers, and sweet-brier, and eglantine 

crowned, 
I thought of the river, all quiet and bright 
As the face of the sky on a blue summer night : 

And I thought of the trees, under which we had 

strayed, 
Of the broad leafy boughs, with their coolness of 

shade ; 
And I hoped, though disfigured, some token to find 
Of the names and the carvings, impressed on the 

rind. 



SENTIMENT AND REFLEl HON*. 



367 



All eager, I hastened the scene to behold, 
Rendered sacred and dear by the feelings ol old; 
And I deemed that, unaltered, mj eye Bhould ex- 
plore 
'1'hi- refuge, this haunt, this Elysium ol yore. 

Twas a dream! — not a token or true- could I view 
Of the names that 1 loved, of the trees that 1 knew : 
Like the shadows of right at the dawning of day. 
'•Like a tale that Is told"— they had vanished away. 



Since the birds, that had nestled and warbled above, 
Had all lied from its banks, at the fall of the grove. 

I paused:— and the moral came home to my heart:— 
Behold, how <>f earth all the glories depart! 
Our visions are baseless,— our hopes but a gleam,— 
Our staff but a reed,— and our life but a dream. 

Then, 0, lei as look— let our prospects allure— 
lo scenes thai can fade not, to realms that endure, 




"I thought of the river all quiet and bright." 



And methonght the lone river, that murmured along, 
Was more dull in its motion, more sad in it- song, 



To glories. t<» blessipgs, that triumph sublime 

0'i-r tin- blightings of Change, and the ruins of Time. 



MOTHER, HOME, HEAVEN 



kIIREE words fall Bweetly on my soul 

k As music from an angel lyre. 

' That bid my spirit Bpurn control 
And upward to Its Bource aspire; 
The sweetest sounds to mortals given 
An- heard in Blother, Some, and Heaven, 

Dear Mother! ne'er shall I torgel 

Thy brow, thine eye, thy pleasanl smile! 
Though in the ~ea of death hathcet 
Thy star of Life, my guide awhile 

Oh, never shall thy form depart 
From the bright pictures i n m y heart. 



And like a bird that from the flowers, 
Wing-weary Beeks her wonted nest, 

My spirit, e'en in manhood's hours, 
Turns back in childhood's Home to rest; 

The cottage, garden, hill and stream. 

Still linger like a pleasanl dream. 

And while to one engulfing grave, 
By time's swifl tide we 're driven. 

How sweet the though! that every wave 
Rut hears us nearer Heaven! 

There we shall meet when life is o'er, 
In that blest Home, to part no more. 

William Goldsmith Brown. 



GIVE ME BACK MY TOT'TTI AG A IX. 



| 



[HEN give me back that time of pleasures. 
While yet in joyous growth I sang, — 
When, like a fount, the crowding measures 
Uninterrupted gushed and sprang! 
Then bright mist veiled the world before me. 
In opening buds a man-el woke. 
As I the thousand blossoms broke 
Which eveiy valley richly bore me ! 



I nothing had. and yet enough for youth — 
Joy in Illusion, ardent thirst for Truth. 

Give unrestrained the old emotion. 

The bliss that touched the verge of pain, 

The strength of Hate, Love's deep devotion, — 

O, give me back my youth again ! 

Bayard Taylor. 

{From the German of Goethe.) 



368 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



AT LAST. 



STOOD beside my window one stormy winter day, 
And watched the light white snow-flakes flutter 

past; 
And I saw, though each one wandered its silent, 

separate way. 




: down, too,' 
ife is past.' " 



They all sank down upon the ground at last. 
" So men must lie down, too," I said, 
"When life is past." 



From out the self-same window, when soft spring 
days were come, 
I watched the fair white clouds that sailed the blue ; 
Could those bright pearly wonders far up in heaven's 
high dome 
Be the old wintry snow-banks that I knew? 
" So men shall one day rise again," 
I whispered, "too." 

Caroline Leslie. 



WAITING-. 

WALK in sadness and alone 

Beside Time's flowing river; 
Their steps I trace upon the sand 
Who wandered with me hand in hand, 

But now are gone forever. 

Upon that river, dark and deep 

My boat will soon be tossing; 
By earth-sounds growing faint and low, 
By mists that blind my eyes, I know 

I must be near the crossing. 

And so I walk with sileut tread 

Beside Time's flowing river, 
And wait the plashing of the oar 
That bears me to the Summer Shore, 

To be with friends forever. 

William Goldsmith Brown. 



»>°-s#s>~;» 



THE BOOK OF JOB. 



CALL that, the Book of Job, aside from all theories about it, one of the grandest 
things ever written with pen. One feels, indeed, as if it were not Hebrew; such a 
noble universality, different from noble patriotism or sectarianism, reigns in it. A 
noble book ! all men's book ! It is our first, oldest statement of the never-ending 
problem — man's destiny — and God's way with him here in this earth. And all in such free, 
flowing outlines; grand in its sincei'ity, in its simplicity; in its epic melody, and repose of 
reconcilement. There is the seeing eye, the mildly understanding heart. So true every 
way ; true eyesight and vision for all things ; material things no !ess than spiritual ; the 
horse — "hast thou clothed his neck with thunder? — he "laughs at the shaking of the 
spear ! " Such living likenesses were never since drawn. Sublime sorrow, sublime recon- 
ciliation ; oldest choral melody as of the heart of mankind ; so soft and great ; as the sum- 
mer midnight, as the world with its seas and stars ! There is nothing written, I think, in 
the Bible or out of it, of equal literary merit. 

Thomas Carlyle. 



SENTIMEN1 AMi REFLECTION. 



3(59 



MORTALITY. 



e[H, why should the -pirit of mortal be proud? 
. , : Like a fast-flitting meteor, a test-flying cloud, 

''f- : A tla-h of the lightning, a break of the wave. 
Jl He passes from life to hi- rest iii the grave. 

The leaves of the oak and the willow -hall fad.-. 
Be scattered around and together be laid; 
And the yOUDg and the Old, and the low and the high. 
Shall moulder to dust and together -hall lie. 

The child that a mother attended and loved, 
The mother thai Infant's affection thai proved, 
The husband thai mother and infant thai blessed, 
Each, ail. are away to their dwelling oj rest 

The maid on whose eheek. on whose brow, in whose 

eye, 

Shone beauty and pleasure,— her triumphs an- by; 
And the memory of those ihai beloved her and 

praised, 
Aiv alike from the mind- ..i the living erased. 

The hand of the king thai the sceptre bath borne, 
The brow of the priest that the mitre liaih worn, 
The eye ol the sage, and the lean ,,t the brave, 
Are hidden and lost in tie- depths ol the g] 

The peasant whose i"i was to bow and to reap. 

The herd-man who climbed with hi- goats t" the 

Bteep, 
The beggar that wandered in search oi hi- bread. 
Have faded away like the grass that we tread. 

The saint thai enjoyed the i tmunlon of heaven, 

The sinner thai dared to remain unforglven, 
The wise and the foolish, the guilty and just, 
Have quietly mingled their bones in the dust 



So lb,- multitude goes, like the flower and the weed, 
That wither awaj to let other- -ueeeed; 
So the multitude comes, even those we behold. 
To repeat everj tale that hath often been told. 

For we are the game that our fathers have been; 
We Bee the same sights that our fathers have seeu, — 

We drink tin- -aim- -tream. and we feel the suite SUD, 

And we run the game course that our fathers have run. 

The thoughts we are thinking our fathers would think; 
Prom tie- death we ate shrinking from, they too would 

-brink; . 

To the life we are clinging t,>. they too would cling; 
Phi ii speeds from the earth like a bird on the wing. 

They loved, but their Btory we cannot unfold; 
Thaj Bcorned, but the heart of the haughty is cold; 

grieved, bul ao wall from 'heir slumbers may 

come; 
They joyed, but the voice oi their gladness i- dumb. 

Thej died, —ay! they died; and we things that are 

DOW, 

Who walk on the tun that lie- .,wr their brow, 
Who make in their dwellings a transient abode, 

the changes they met on their pilgrimage road. 

, .■ a : hope and despondency, pleasure and pain. 
Are mingled together like Bunshlne and rain; 
And tie- -mile and the tear and the .-..ng and the dirge 
Mill follow each other, like surge upon -urge. 

' li- the wink ol an eye. - ti- the draught of a breath. 
Prom the blossom ol health to the paleni -- of death, 
From tie- gilded saloon '" the bier and the Bhroud,— 
oh. why should the spiril ol mortal be proud? 

William Knox. 



OFT IN TI II-: STILLY NhlllT. 



FT in the stilly night. 

Ere slumber's chain ha- bound me. 
Pond Memory brings the light 
Of Other day- around me : 
The -mile-, the tear-. 

Of boyhood's years, 
The words of love tl en spoken ; 

The eye- that -hone. 

Now dimmed and gone. 

The cheerful heart- now broken. 
Thus in the stilly night, 

Ere slumber"- chain ha- bound me. 
Sad Memory brings the light 

Of other days around me. 



When I remember all 

The lii, aid- -■■ linked together 

I Ac seen around me fall, 

T.ike leaves iii wintry weather, 
I feel like one 
Who treads alone 
Some banquet-hall deserted, 
Whose lights are fled, 
Whose garlands dead. 
And all but he departed. 
Thus in the stilly night, 

Ere slumber's chain has bound me. 
Sad Memory brings the light 
Of other days around me. 

Thomas Moore. 



370 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 

THE LIGHT-HOUSE. 



ER waves that murmur ever nigh 
ilr window, opening toward the deep. 
* The light-house, with its wakeful eye. 
Looks into mine, that shuts to sleep. 



Forever there, and still the same : 
While many more besides me mark 

On various course, with various aim, 
That light that shineth in the dark. 




e :-._: shut; : sleep.' 



I lo«e myself in idle dreams. 

And wake in smiles or sighs or fright. 
According to my vision's themes. 

And see it shining in the night. 



It draws my heart towards those who roam 
Unknown, nor to be known by me : 

I see it. and am glad at home. 
They see it. and are safe at sea. 

Sarah Hajdioxd Pai.fret. 



AT BEST. 



;HE faithful helm commands the keel. 
I From port to port fair breezes blow : 
But the ship must sail the convex sea. 
Xor may she straighter go. 

So. man to man: in fair accord. 
On thought and will the winds may wait: 



But the world will bend the passing word. 
Though its shortest course be straight. 

From soul to soul the shortest line 

At best will bended be : 
The ship that holds the straightest course 

Still sails the convex sea. 

JOHX BOVLE O'REILLT. 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



371 



BY THE AUTUMN SEA. 




the dawn of the fairest day. 
Sad as the evening's tender gray, 
By the latest Lustre of Bunsel kissed, 
That wavers and wanes throngb an amber 

mist — 
There cometb a dream of the j>:i-t to nae, 
On the desert Bands, bj the autumn sea. 



Thai Bhine \\ ith an angel's nun on me.— 
A hopeless waif, by the antnmn sea. 

The wings ol the ghostlj beach-birds gleam 
Throngb 1 1 »« • shimmering surf, and the curlev. '■ 
Falls taimh -in-ill from the darkening height, 
The Bret weird sigh on the Lips of Night 




wrapped in i n 

llm and pale 



All heaven Is wrapped in a mystic veil, 
And the face of the ocean i- dim and pale. 
And there ri-es a « ind from the chill northwest, 
That seemeth the wail of a soul's unrest, 
A- the twilight falls, and the vapors flee 

Far over the wastes of the autumn sea. 

A single ship throngb the gloaming glides, 
Dpborne on the Bwell of the seaward tides; 

And above the gleam of her topmost -par 
Are the virgin eyes of the vesper star 



Breath 

W ith a 



low through the sedge and the blasted tree, 
lurmur "i doom, t.\ the antnmn sea. 



Oh, Bky-enshadowed and yearning main. 

Ybnr g] n but deepens this human pain; 

Those waves Beem i>i:r with a nameless care, 
That -ky i- a type of the heart's despair, 
As I linger and muse by the sombre lea, 
And the nignt-shades do n the antnmn sea. 



I'M I II \ Mll.lt >N II aYNK. 



•- 



TAKE BEART. 



day the stormy wind has blown 
From off tie- dark and rainy sea; 

No bird has pa<t the window flown, 

The only song has been th<' moan 
The wind made in the willow- tree. 

This Is the summer's burial-time: 

She died when dropped the earliest leaves; 
And. cold upon her rosy prime, 

Fell down the autumn's frosty rime: 
Yet I am not as our that grieves, — 



For well I know o'er sunny - 

The bluebird waits for Vpril skies; 
And at the roots of forest trees 
The May-flowers sleep in fragrant ease, 
And violets bide their aznre eyes. 

<> thou, by winds of grief n'erblown 

Beside some golden summer's bier, — 
Take heart! Thy birds are only flown, 
Thy ) .]. .--< .111- sleeping, tearful sown. 
To greet thee in the immortal year! 

Edna Dkan Proctor. 



372 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



TIME ROLLS HIS CEASELESS COURSE. 



H||irME rolls his ceaseless course. The race of yor 
S&Sik Who dauced our infancy upon their knee, 
4r ; And told our marveling boyhood legends store 
J4 Of their strange ventures happ'd by land ( 

sea, 
How arc they blotted from the things that be ! 



How few, all weak and withered of their force, - 

Wait, on the verge of dark eternity, 
Like stranded wrecks, the tide returning hoarse, 
To sweep them from our sight! Time rolls his cease- 

Sir Walter Scott. 




WHEN STARS ARE IN THE QUIET SKIES. 



aHEN stars are in the quiet skies, 

Then most I pine for thee; 

K Bend on me then thy tender eyes, 

As stars look on the sea. 

For thoughts, like waves that glide by nig 

Are stillest when they shine ; 
Mine earthly love lies hushed in light 
Beneath the heaveu of thine. 

There is an hour when angels keep 

Familiar watch o'er men, 
When coarser souls are wrapped in sleep 

Sweet spirit, meet me then; 



There is an hour when holy dreams 

Through slumber fairest glide, 
And in that mystic hour it seems 

Thou should'st be by my side. 

My thoughts of thee too sacred are 
For daylight's common beam ; 
I can but know bhee as my star, 

My angel and my dream! 
When stars are in the quiet skies, 

Then most I pine for thee; 
Bend on me then thy tender eyes, 

As stars look on the sea. 

EuWARl) BUI/WER LVTTON. 



SENTIMENT A.\l» REJ l.u I ION. 



373 



DREAMERS. 






there be souls dodc understand, 

Like clouds, thej ca touch the land. 

Drive as they maj i>> Held or town. 
Then we look wise ai this, and frown, 
And we cr) "Fool!" and cry "Take hold 
of earth, and fashion gods oJ gold I 

l oanohored — 1 1 i § >~ . thai blo« and blow, 

Sail to and fro, and theu go down 

in unknown Beas thai none Bhall know. 



Without one ripple of renown; 
Poor drifting dreamers, sailing by, 
i mi to onlj li\>- to die. 

( all these uol fools; the tesl ol worth 
I- uol the hold j ou have "i earth; 
Lo, there be gentlest bouIs, sea blown, 
That kuow uol ;un harbor known: 
And it ma\ be the reason i- 
They touch on fairer shores than this. 

Jo vi in MiLi.hU. 



ANSWER TO A CHILD'S QUESTION. 



f> you ask what the birds Bay? The sparrow, the 
dove. 
Ene linnet, and thrush -a> •• I love, and I love! " 
In the winter thej 're Bilent, the wind i~ so 
strong; 
What it says I dmi't know, bul it edngs a loud Bong. 
But green leaves, and blossoms, and sunny warm 
weather, 

And singing and lo\ lug — all com.- back together. 

But the lark i~ ~o brimful ol gladness and love, 
The green fields below him the blue Bky above, 
That he Bings, and he sings, and forever Blngs hi . 
M 1 love my Love, and m\ Love loves me." 

Sami ii TA1 LOB i 'Ml itiix.i . 




INDIRECTION. 



rxll: re the flowers and the children, bul thcii fT n der the joy that is felt lie the infinite issues of feet- 
subtle suggestion i- fairer; | n <r- 

Bare is the roseburst of dawn, bnt the secret thai Crowning the glory revealed is I crowns 

clasps ii is rarer; 
Sweet theexultance of song, but the strain that 

precedes il is sweeter; ' itare the symbols of being, bul that which is sym- 

And never was | m vet writ, but the moaning boled ,s - r,v:, " ,, " : 

out-mastered the metre. v ' md beheld, bnt vaster the inward cre- 

ator; 

Never a daisy that grows, but a mystery gnideth the Back of the sound broods the silence, back of the gift 

rowing; , lng . 

Never a river that flows, but a majesty sceptres the Back of the hand thai receives thrill the sensitive 
flowing; nerves ol receiving. 

. Shakespeare that soared, bul a stronger than 

he did enfold him; Space is as nothing to spirit, the deed is outdone by 
Noi never a prophet foretells, but a mightier seer ,l "' '' 

hath foretold him. ' Il '' heart of the w :r is warm, bul wanner the heart 

of the wooing; 

Back of the canvas that throbs the painter is hinted Ajid up from the pits where these shiver, and up from 

and hidden ; tlll . heights where those shine. 

lute, the Btatue that breathes the soul of the sculptor Twin voices and shadows swim starward, and the es- 
is bidden; _,.„,.,. ,, f ;,,,. is divine. 

Richard Re alp. 



374 



THE EOYAL GALLERY. 



ALONE BY THE HEARTH. 



CUE, in my Snug fire-lit chamber, 

Sit I alone ; 
And, as I gaze in the coals, I remember 

Days long agone. 

Saddening it is when the night has descended, 

Thus to sit here, 
Pensively musing on episodes ended 

Many a year. 



'Tis but a wraith of love; yet I linger, 

(Thus passion errs.) 
Foolishly kissing the ring on my finger — 

Once it was hers. 

Nothing has changed since her spirit departed, 

Here, in this room, 
Save I, who, weary, and half broken-hearted, 

Sit in the gloom. 



:? f ; 7if| 






" Saddening it is when the night has descended, 
Thus to sit here, 
Pensively musing- on episodes ended 
' Many a year." 



Still in my visions a golden-haired glory 

Flits to and fro ; 
She whom I loved— but 'tis just the old story: 

Dead, long ago. 



Loud 'gainst the window the winter wind dashes, 

Dreary and cold ; 
Over the floor the red fire-light flashes, 

Just as of old. 



SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 



375 



Just as of old — but the embers are scattered, 

Whose ruddy blaze 
Plashed o'er the il ■ where the fair) feci pattered 

lu other days! 

Then, her dear voice, like ;i silver chime ringing, 

Melted away; 
Often these walls have re-echoed her singing. 

Now hushed for aye! 

Why should love bring naught but sorrow, 1 
wonder? 

Everything dies! 



Time and death, sooner or later, must sunder 
Holiest ties. 

fears have rolled by; 1 am wiser and older- 
Wiser, but yet 

Not till my heart and my feelings grew colder. 
Can I forget. 

So. in my snug little fire-lit chamber, 
Sit I alone; 

\iel, as I gaze in th< als, 1 remember 

Daj - long agone! 

'.I OBGl Akm.i D. 



WAITING BY THE GATE. 



UDE a massive gateway built up in years gone Oh breath <>f summer blossoms that on the restless 



by, 
Upon whose top the clouds in eternal Bhadow 

lie, 

Aliile streams the evening sunshine on quiet wood 

and lea, 

sUind and calmly wait till the binges turn for me. 

Pi*' tree-tops fainth rustle beneath the breeze's 

Bight, 
V soft and soothing -mud. yet it whispers "t the 

night; 
bear the wood-thrush piping one mellow descant 

more, 

Vml scent the Bowers that blow when the heat of day 

is o'er. 

Sehold the portals open, and o'er the threshold, now. 



Scatters a moment's sweetness and flies we know not 

w here! 

I grieve for life's bright promise, just shown and then 

w ithdraw n; 

But still the sun shines round me: the evening bird 

Binga on, 
And I again am soothed, and, beside tin- ancient irate. 
In the soft evening sunlight, I calmly stand and wait 

Once more (he gates are opened; an infant group go 

out, 
The sweet smile quenched forever, and stilled the 

sprightly shout 
Oh frail, frail tr >f life, that upon the greensward 

s trows 



'here steps a weary o„e with pale and furrowed lte f:lir young buds unopened, withevery wind that 

blows! 

So come from ever) region, so enter, side by side, 
The strong and faint of spirit the meek, and men of 

pride. 

Steps "t earth'- great and might] . between those pil- 

lars gray, 
And prints of little feet mark the dust along the waj . 



brow ; 
lis count of years is full, bis allotted task i- w rough! ; 

Ee passes to his rest from a place that n I- him 

not. 



ii Badness then I ponder how quickly fleets the hour 
)f human strength and action man's courage and hi- 

power; 
muse while sim the wood-thrush sings down the \ nil Bome approach the threshold whose looks are 



golden day. 
Lad as I look and listen the sadness wears away, 

vgain the hinges turn, and a youth departim: throws 

V look of longing backward and sorrowfully goes ; 

V blooming maid, unbinding the roses from her hair. 
loves mournfully away from amidst the young and 

fair. 

)h glory of our race that so suddenly decays! 
)h crimson flush of morning that darkens as we gaze! I stand and calmly wait till the hinges turn for me. 

William Cullek Brvaxt. 



blank with fear. 
And -..me whose temples brighten with joy in draw- 
ing near. 
As if they saw- dear faces, and caught the gracious eye 
<>f Him, the sinless teacher, who ca for us to die. 

1 mark the joy. the terror; yet these within my heart, 
Can neither make the dread nor the longing to depart; 
.And. in the sunshine streaming on quiet wood and 

lea. 



37(3 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



THE DUKE OF GLOSTER, ON HIS OWN DEFORMITY. 



>W are our brows bound with victorious wreaths ; 

Our bruised arms hung up for monuments; 
^f? Our stern- alarums changed to merry meetings, 
Jl Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. 
X Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled 
■f front; 

And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds, 
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, 
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber 
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. 
But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks, 
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass : 
I, that am rudely stamped, and want love's majesty. 
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph; 



I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion, 
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, 
Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time 
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, 
And that so lamely and unfashionable, 
That dogs bark at me, as I halt by them ; 
Why I, in this weak piping time of peace, 
Have no delight to pa^s away the time, 
Unless to spy my shadow in the sun, 
And descant on mine own deformity ; 
And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover, 
To entertain these fan- well-spoken days, 
I am determined to prove a villain, 
And hate the idle pleasures of these days. 

William Shakespeare. 



SUNBEAMS. 



!^5 BABY sat on his mother's knee, 

H On the golden morn of a summer's day, 

^ Clapping his tiny hands in glee, 

As he watched the shifting sunbeams play. 

A sunbeam glanced through the open door, 
With its shimmering web of atoms fine, 

And crept aiong on the sanded floor 
In a glittering, glimmering, golden line. 

The baby laughed in his wild delight, 
And clutched at the quivering golden band; 

But the sunbeam fled from his eager sight. 
And nought remained in the dimpled hand. 

For a cloud had swept o'er the summer sky, 
And gathered the beam to its bosom gray, 

And wrapped iu a mantle of sombre dye 
The glory and pride of the summer's day. 

Thus cheated sore in his eager quest, 
With a puzzled look that was sad to see, 



He laid his head on his mother's breast 
And gazed in the dear face wistfully. 

The cloud swept by, and the beam returned, 
But the weaiy child was slumbering now. 

And heeded it not, though it glowed and burned 
Like a crowu of flame on his baby brow. 

And I thought, ah, babe, thou art not alone 
In thy bootless quest for a fleetiag toy, 

For we all are babes, little wiser grown, 

In our chase for some idle and transient joy. 

We are grasping at sunbeams day by day, 
And get but our toil for our weary pains; 

For ever some cloudlet obscures the ray, 
And naught in the sordid grasp remains. 

But when the lures o* our youth depart, 
And our empty strivings are all forgot, 

Then down in some nook of the peaceful heart 
The sunbeam glows when we seek it not. 

Egbert Phelps. 



THE VICISSITUDES OF LIFE. 



|0 farewell to the little good you bear me, 
Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness! 
This is the state of man : to-day he puts forth 
The tender leaves of hope; to-morrow blossoms, 
And bears his blushing honors thick upon him; 
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost. 
And, when he thinks, good easy man, full surely 
His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root, 
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured. 
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, 
This many summers in a sea of glory. 
But far beyond my depth : my high-blown pride 



At length broke under me, and now has left me, 
Weary, and old with service, to the mercy 
Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. 
Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye; 
I feel my heart new opened. O, how wretched 
Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors! 
There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to, 
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, 
More pangs and fears than wars or women have; 
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, 
Never to hope again. 

William Shakesi»kare. 



SEN I IMI.N T AND KK1 I.l.< l [OH 



377 



ESTRANGEMENT. 



iLAS! they had been friends in youth: 
'^i Hut whispering tongues can poison truth; 

Lnd constancy Uvea in realms above; 
U And life is thorn} ; and youth is vain; 
Ami to be wroth u iih one we love 
Doth work like madness in the brain. 



A dreary Bea now Bows between; 

Hui neither beat, nor frost, nor ibunder, 

Shall wholly do away, I ween, 

Tin- mark- <>i ihat which once bath been. 

Sahi i.i. Tai lob < loi i ridge. 




" Like cliff- which had Seen nut asunder; 
A Jrc.irv sea now Qows between." 

Bul never either found another 
To free the hollow heart from paining, — 
They stood aloof, the s,.ars remaining, 
Like cliffs which had been rent asunder; 



HAMLET'S SOLILOQUY. 

Ypr« > be, or not to be,— that is the question : 
j^A-, Whether 't i- nobler in the mind to suffer 
.1 ; . The slings and arrow - ol outrageous fortune; 
i Or to take arms againsl a sea of troubles, 
+ And b\ opposing, end them?— To die, I 

-|eep,_ 

No more:— and. bj a Bleep, to Bay we end 

'I'll.' beart-ache, ami the thousand natural Bhocks 

That flesh i- heir to.— •( i- a consummation 

Devoutly to be wish'd. To die;— to sleep;— 

To deep! perchance to dream; ay, there's thi rub, 

For in that sleep ol death what dream- iua\ come, 

When we have Bhuffled off thi- mortal coil, 

Musi give ii- pause; there •- the respect 

That make- calamity ol so long life: 

For who would bear the whips and scorns of lime, 

Tl ppreseor's n rong. the proud man'- contumely, 

The pangs ol despised love, the law's delay, 
The Insolence of office and the spurns 
That patient merit of the unworthy takes, 
When he himself mighl hi- quietus make 

With a bare bodkin? who would fardels '■■ 
To gmnl and sweat under a wear\ life; 

Bnl thai the dread ol something after death. — 
The undiscovered country, from whose bourne 

\ . .. puzzles the will: 

And make- us rather bear those ill- we bave, 

Than fly toother- that we know n I 

Tim- conscience does make cowards of u- all; 
And thus the native hue of resolution 
Is sicklied o'er with the pale casl of thought; 
And enterprises of great pith and moment. 
With thi- regard, their currents nun a-wry, 
And lose the name .if action. 

William mi akl-peare. 



TO-DAY. 



m 



[0 horo hath been dawning 

\ not her blue day: 

Think wilt thou let it 

Slip useless away. 

Out of Eternity 

This new Day is born; 
Into Eternity 

At night will return. 



Behold it aforetime 

No eye ever did; 
So soon it forever 

From all eyes is hid. 

Here hath been dawning 

Another blue day ; 
Think wilt thou let it 

Slip useless away. 

Tiiomas CART/ru?. 



378 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



THE STREAM. 



STREAM, descending to the sea, 
Thy mossy banks between, 

The flowerets blow, the grasses grow, 
Thy leafy trees are green. 

In garden plots the children play, 
The fields the laborers till, 

And houses stand on either hand, 
And thou deseendest still. 



Strong purposes our minds possess, 

Our hearts affections fill ; 
We toil and earn, we seek and learn 

And thou deseendest still. 

O end to which our currents tend, 

Inevitable sea 
To which we flow ! what do we know, 

What shall we guess of thee? 




" O stream, descending to the sea, 
Thy mossy banks Detween, 

The flowerets blow, the grasses grow, 
Thy leafy trees are green." 



O life, descending into death, 
Our waking eyes behold ; 

Parent and friend thy lapse attend, 
Companions young and old. 



A roar we hear upon thy shore, 

As we our course fulfill ; 
Scarce we divine a sun will shine 

And be above us still. 

Arthur Hugh Clough. 



>. v w3o.— 



GRIEF ANT) PATHOS. 




Till-: TWO VILLAGES. 



ER the river on the hill 
Lieth a village white and still ; 
All around it the forest trees 
Shiver and whisper in the breeze; 
Over it sailing shadows go 
Of soaring hawk and screaming crow; 
And mountain grasses, low and sweet. 
Grow iu the middle of every street. 



Over the river under the hill 
Another village lieth still; 
There I see in the cooling night 
Twinkling stars of household light, 
Kirts that gleam from smithy's door, 
Mists that curl on the river's shore; 
And in the road no grasses grow. 
For the wheels that hasten to aud fro. 
379 



380 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



In that village on the hill 

Never is sound of smithy or mill ; 

The houses are thatched with grass and flowers, 

Never a clock to tell the hours ; 

The marble doors are always shut; 

You may not enter at hall or hut. 



In that village under the hill. 
When the night is starry and still, 
Many a weary soul in prayer 
Looks to the other village there, 
And weeping and sighing, longs to go 
Up to that home from this below ; 
Longs to sleep by the forest wild, 
Whither have vanished wife and child, 
And heareth, praying, the answer fall, — 
" Patience: That village shall hold ye all! " 
Rose Terry CooKEf 



I 



*M± 



THE BLIND BOY. 




lait^- 



" Over the river under the lull 
Another village lieth still." 

All the village lie asleep, 
Never a grain to sow or reap ; 
Never in dreams to moan or sigh — 
Silent, and idle, and low, they lie. 



'/\| SAY, what is that thing called light, 
S,*s»» - /^$ Which 1 mast ne'er enjoy? 
||If|l 40?, Wh . lt are tlie blessings of the sight? 
Sa||i j, O tell your poor blind boy ! 

fflgP J You talk of wondrous things you see, 

You say the sun shines bright; 
jS= I feel him warm, but how can he 

&W| Or make it day or night? 

||y, My day or night myself I make, 
Sp*' Whene'er I sleep or play; 

'-w? j And could I ever keep awake, 
|1^ With me 't were always day. 

With neavy sighs I often hear 

You mourn my hapless woe ; 
But sure with patience I can bear 

A loss I ne'er can know. 

Then let not what I cannot have 

My cheer of mind destroy; 
Whilst thus I sing, I am a king, 

Although a poor blind boy. 

COLLEY ClBBER. 



o>~s#3o=;^ 



THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES. 



ip HAVE had playmates, I have had companions, 
H& In my days of childhood, in my joyful school - 

I days; 

I All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. 

I have been laughing, I have been carousing, 
Drinking late, sitting late, with my bosom cronies; 
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. 

I loved a love once, fairest among women ; 
Closed are her doors on me. I must not see her; 
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. 

I have a Mend, a kinder friend has no man; 

Like an ingrate I left my friend abruptly; 

Left him, to muse on the old familiar faces. • 



Ghost-like I paced round the haunts of my child- 
hood: 
Earth seemed a desert I was bound to traverse, 
Seeking to find the old familiar faces. 

Friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother, 
Why wert not thou born in my father's dwelling? 
So might we talk of the old familiar faces, — 

How some they have died, and some they have left 

me, 
And some are taken from me : all are departed; 
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. 

Charles Lamb. 



GRIEF AND PATHOS. 



381 



THE OHURCHYAKD OF THE VILLAGE. 



?0\V sweet and solemn all alone', 
s With reverent steps, from Btone to -tone. 
" In a small village churchyard lying, 
O'er intervening dowers t" move! 
Ami a- we read the names unknot a, 
of young and old i" judgmenl goD 
And hear in l In- calm ail' above, 

Time onwai'd, softrj ih Lng, 

To meditate, in < hristian love, 
Upon the dead and dying! 



i bi friends we loved, long, long 
< » i i ■ 1 i 1 1 ir ucross the -ad retreat, 
1 1 > \ beautiful their phantom feel ! 
What tenderness i- in their ey< -. 
Turned win r.- the poor survivor lies 
'Mid monitory sanctities! 
What years ol vanished joys are fanned 
From one uplifting of thai hand 
In Its white stillness! when the -hade 
Doth glimmcringlj in suushii 




- 



the names anknowi 

ind old, to judgl 



Across the silence seems to go 

>\' iili dream-like motion wavering slow, 

And shrouded in their folds of slow, 



From "in' embrace, how dim a] 
This world'- life through a misl oi 
Vain hopes! blind sorrows ! needless fcarsl 
W ilsok I hristopher North). 



MV IIKAKT AXD I. 



,.;., 



rOUGH : we Ye tired, nrj hearl and I ; 
We sil beside the headstone thus. 
And wish the name were carved for us; 
J The moss reprints more tenderly 
The hard types of the mason's knife 
A- Heaven's sweel life renews earth's life, 
With which we 're tired, my heart and I. 
as 



Yon see we 're tired, my heart and I ; 

W< dealt with books, we trusted men. 

And in our own blood drenched the pen, 
A.- if such colors could not fly. 

We walked too straight for fortune's end, 

Wc loved too true to keep a friend; 
At last we 're tired, mv heart and I. 



382 



THE EOYAL GALLERY. 



How tired we feel, ray heart and I ; 

We seem of no use in the world ; 

Our fancies hang gray and uncurled 
About men's eyes indifferently; 

Our voice, which thrilled you so, will let 

You sleep; our tears are ouly wet; 
What do we here, my heart and I? 

So tired, so tired, my heart and I; 
It was not thus in that old time 
When Ralph sat with me 'neath the lime 

To watch the sun set from the sky : 

"Dear Love, you 're looking tired," he said; 
I, smiling at him, shook my head; 

'Tis now we 're tired, my heart and I. 

So tired, so tired, my heart and I ! 
Though now none takes me on his arm 
To fold me close and kiss me warm, 



Till each quick breath ends in a sigh 
Of happy languor. Now, alone 
We lean upon his graveyard stone, 

Uncheered, unkissed, my heart and I. 

Tired out we are, my heart and I. 
Suppose the world brought diadems 
To tempt us, crusted with loose gems 

Of powers and pleasures? Let it try. 
We scarcely care to look at even 
A pretty child, or God's blue heaven, 

We feel so tired, my heart and I. 

Yet, who complains? My heart and I? 
In this abundant earth no doubt 
Is little room for things worn out; 

Disdain them, break them, throw them by; 
And if before the days grew rough, 
We once were loved, then — well enough 

I think we 've fared, my heart and I. 

Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 




WITH THE DEAD. 



||ip|E hasten to the dead : What seek ye there, 
iffcp Ye restless thoughts and busy purposes 
* Of the idle brain, which the world's livery wear? 
f O thou quick heart which pantest to possess 
I All that anticipation feigneth fair! — 
Thou vainly curious mind which wouldest guess 
AVhence thou didst come, and whither thou mayst go, 



And that which never yet was known wouldst know-- 

Oh, whither hasten ye, that thus ye press 

With such swift feet life's green and pleasant path, 

Seeking alike from happiness and woe 

A refuge in the cavern of gray death? 

O heart, and mind, and thoughts! What thing do you 

Hope to inherit in the grave below? 

Percy Bysshe Shelley. 



GRIEF AND PATHOS. 



383 



A DEATI-I-r.ED. 



■■SEE suffering ended with the day: 

§k)L; Yd lived -In- ill ii- close, 

, id breathed the long, long nighl away 
ii In statue-like repose. 



But when the sun, In all his state, 

Illumed the eastern .skies. 
She passed through glory's morning-gate, 

And walked in Paradise! 

• I > Ml .- AXU1UC3 




THE DEATB OF 

STY'l 1 10 inelanehoh da\ - an- .mm-, lie- -adde-t of lie- 

L 01 walling winds, and naked woods, and mead- 
I ows brow n and Bear. 

I Heaped in the hollows "i the grove, the autumn 
leaves lie dead; 
Thej rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's 

tread. 
The robin and the wren are flo\> n, and trom the shrubs 

the jay, 
And from the wood-top calls the crow through :ill the 
gloomy day. 

Whore are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that 
lately Bprang and stood 

In brighter lighl and Bofter airs, a beauteous sister- 
hood? 

Alas! they all are in their graves; the gentle race of 
flowers 

Are lying in their lowly beds with the fair and g 1 

of ours. 

The rain is falling where they lie; bu1 the cold Novem- 
ber rain 

Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones 
again. 

The wind-flower and the violet, they \ erished long 
ago, 

And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the sum- 
mer glow : 

But on tin- hill the golden-rod. aud the aster in the 
wood. 



THE FLOWERS. 

And the yellow sunflower by the brook in autumn 
beaut) -i I. 

Till fell the frosl fr the clear cold beaven, a- falls 

the plague ou men, 

And the brightness ol their smile was gone from up- 
land, glade, and glen. 

And now, when comes the .aim. mild day, as -till such 

days "ill ci -. 

To call the squirrel and the bee froi I their winter 

When the - I "i dropping nuts is beard, though all 

the trees are -till. 

And twinkle in the smokj n_ r i" the waters of the rill; 

The south-wind -■ u flowers who.-- fra- 

grance late he bore, 

And sighs I- And them in the w 1 and by the stream 



And then I think of one who in I, e,- youthful beauty 

died, 
The fair meek blossom thai grew up and faded by my 

side; 
In the cold moisi earth we laid her, when the forests 

casl tin- leaf, 
And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so 

brief: 
Yet not unmeet it was that one. like that young friend 

of our-. 
So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the 

flowers. 

William Cullen Bryant. 



384 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



SANDS OF DEE. 



MARY, go and call the cattle home, 

And call the cattle home, 

And call the cattle home. 



Ahove the nets at sea? 
Was never salmon yet that shone so fair, 
Among: the stakes of Dee? " 




Across the sands of Dee! " 
The western wind was wild and dank with foam. 
And all alone went she. 



rowed her in across the rolling; foam, 
The cruel, crawling foam, 
The cruel, hungry foam, — 



The creeping tide came up along the sand. 
And o'er and o'er the sand, 
And round and round the sand, 
As far as eye could see; 
The blinding mist came down and hid the land : 
And never home came she. 



iis&Vi * 




w 



•***>-■- 




' They 



in across the rolling foam 



'O, is it weed, ov fish, or floating hair, — 
A tress of golden hair, 
Of drowned maiden's hair, — 



"To her grave beside the sea." 

To her grave beside the sea ; 
But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home, 
Across the sands of Dee. 

Charles Kingsley. 



KSpE that lacks time to mourn, lacks time to mend. 
WM Eternity mourns that. 'Tis an ill cure 
For life's worst ills, to have no time to feel them. 



Where sorrow 's held intrusive and turned out, 
There wisdom will not enter, nor true power, 
Nor aught that dignifies humanity. 



GRIEF AND PATHOS. 



585 



ON THE RECEIPT OF MY MOTHER'S PICTURE. 



mother! when I learned that thon wast 
dead, 
was) thou conscious of the tears I shed? 
Hovered thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son, 
¥ Wretch even then, life's journey jusl begun? 
T Perhaps thou ga vest me, though unfelt,a kiss* 
Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss— 
Ah, that maternal smile! it answers- Yes. 
I heard the bell tolled on toy burial daj , 
I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away, 
And, turning from my nursery window, drew 
A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu! 
Butwas itsuch? it was. Where thou art gone 



Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown. 
May I but meet thee on thai peai eful shore, 
The parting words BhalJ pass my lips no more! 
Thy maidens, grieved themselves at my concern, 
Ofi gave me promise of thy quick return. 
What ardently I wished, I long believed, 
And. disappointed still, was -till deceived. 
By expectation everj daj beguiled, 
1 >upe of to-morrow . even from a child. 
Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went, 
Till, all my Btock of infant sorrows spent, 
I learned at las) submission to my lot, 
But, though I less deplored il ne'er forgot. 

Will i 131 ( OWPEB. 



THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS 



iK more unfortunate, 
Weary of breath, 
Rash!} Importunate, 
Gone to her death ! 

Take her np tenderly, 
Lift ber with care : 
Fashioned so slenderly, 

V ig and bo fair! 

I k at her garments 

dinging like cerements; 
Whilst the wave . onstantly 
Drips from ber clothing; 
Take her up instant]} . 
Loving, not loathing. 

Touch ber not scornfully; 
Think of her mournfully, 
Gently and hnmanlj ; 

Not of the -tain- of ber, 
All that remains of ber 
Now i- pure womanly. 

Make no deep scrutiny 
into her mutiny 
Rash and undutiful; 
Pasl all dishonor, 
Death has left on her 
Only the beautiful 

Still, for all Blips Of Iters. 
One of Eve's family- 
Wipe those poor lips of hers 
Oozing so clammily. 

Loop up her tresses 
Escaped from the comb. 
Her fair anbum tressaa; 
Whilst wonderment guesses 
Where w as ber home? 



Who was her father? 
Who was ber mother? 
Had she a sister? 
ll id she a brother? 
" »r was there a di arer one 
Still, and a nearer one 
Yet, than all other? 

Alas! for the raritj 

Of < InNtian charily 

Under the sun ! 
<>. ii was pitiful! 

Near ii w bole citj mil, 
II she had none. 

Sisterly, brotherly, 
Fiitherlj . inotberlj 
Feelings had changed : 

Love, i>> hursfa evide 

Throw ii ii it- emin 

Even God's providence 
Seeming 

Where the lamps quiver 

so far in the riVer. 

With many a lighl 

From w indov and casement, 

From garret to basement, 

She stood, with amazement, 

Houseless by nignt. 

The bleak wind of March 
Made her tremble and shiver; 

1>mi ni 'i the dark arch, 

Or the black flowing river: 

M id from life's history. 
Glad to death's mystery 
Swift to he hurled.— 
Anywhere, anywhere 
Out of the world! 



386 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



In she plunged boldly, 
No matter how coldly 
The rough river ran, — 
Over the brink of it, 
Picture it, — think of it, 
Dissolute man! 
Lave in it, drink of it, 
Then, if you can ! 

Take her up tenderly, 
Lift her with care ; 
Fashioned so slenderly, 
Young, and so fair ! 

Ere her limbs frigidly 
Stiffen too rigidly, 
Decently, — kindly — 
Smooth and compose them ; 
And her eyes, close them, 
Staring so blindly ! 



Dreadfully staring 
Through muddy impurity t 
As when with the daring 
Last look of despairing 
Fixed on futurity. 

Perishing gloomily, 
Spurred by contumely, 
Cold inhumanity, 
Burning insanity, 
Into her rest, 
Cross her hands humbly 
As if praying dumbly, 
Over her breast! 

Owning her weakness, 
Her evil behavior, 
And leaving, with meekness, 
Her sins to her Saviour ! 

Thomas Hood. 



LITTLE SHOES AND STOCKINGS. 



|ITTLE shoes and stockings ! 
\ What a tale ye speak, 
' Of the swollen eyelid, 
And the tear-wet cheek ; 
Of the nightly vigil, 

And the daily prayer; 
Of the buried darling, 
Present everywhere ! 

Brightly plaided stockings 

Of the finest wool ; 
Rounded feet, and dainty, 

Each a stocking full ; 
Tiny shoes of crimson, 

Shoes that nevermore 
Will awaken echoes 

From the toy-strewn floor. 

Not the wealth of Indies 
Could your worth eclipse. 

Priceless little treasures, 
Pressed to whitened lips ; 



As the mother nurses, 
From the world apart. 

Leaning on the arrow 
That has pierced her heart. 

Head of flaxen ringlets ; 

Eyes of heaven's blue ; 
Parted mouth — a rosebud — 

Pearls just peeping through; 
Soft arms, softly twining 

Round her neck at eve; — 
Little shoes and stockings, 

These the dreams ye weave. 

Weave her yet another, 

Of the world of bliss ; — 
Let the stricken mother 

Turn away from this ; 
Bid her dream believing 

Little feet await, 
Watching for her passing 

Through the pearly gate. 



WHEN WE TWO PARTED. 



?HEN we two parted 
t In silence and tears, 
} Half broken-hearted 
To sever for years, 
Pale grew thy cheek and cold, 

Colder thy kiss; 
Truly that hour foretold 
Sorrow to this. 



The dew of the morning 

Sunk chill on my brow,- 
It felt like the warning 

Of what I feel now. 
Thy vows are all broken, 

And light is thy fame; 
I hear thy name spoken, 

And share in its shame. 



GRIE1 AND PATHOS. 



:'■' 



They nainc thee before me, 

A knt-1 1 in mine- ear: 
A shudder comes o'er me,— 

Why werl thou bo dear? 
They know nol 1 knew thee, 

Win. knew ili.-c too well : — 
Long, long shall I rue thee, 
eplj i'. tell. 



In secret «>• met, — 

In -ili-iir. • i grieve, 

I h;il tin h. art ...ill. I forget, 

Thy spiril deceive. 
If I should meet thee 

After long years, 
How should I greet thee?— 

w iili silence and tears. 

Lokd Bykon. 



LITTLE JIM. 



f[E cottage was a thatched one, th itside old L have no pain, dear mother, now, but 01 Earn so dry, 

ami mean, Just moisten poor Jim's lips again, ami. mother, don't 

Pin all within that little < sol was « Irons neat j ry." 

and clean; With gentle, trembling haste she held the liquid to his 

The night was 'lark and stormy, tin- wind was bowling lip; 

w ild, He smiled to thank her as be took each little, tiny sip. 
Asapatienl ther sal beside the death-bed of her " Tell father, when he comes from work, I said good- 
child: night to him, 
A little worn-out creature, bis once bright eyes grown A ml. mother, now Pll go to sleep." Ala-: poor little 

dim: Jim! 

It was a collier's wife and child — they called him She knew that he was dying; that the child she loved 

little Jim. bo dear. 




And oh! to see the briny tears fast burrj Ing dow n her 
cheek, 

As she offered up the prayer, in thought, she was 
afraid t.> speak, 

Lestshr might waken one Bbe loved tar better than her 
life; 

For she bad all a mother's heart —hail that poor col- 
lier's wife. 

With hands uplifted, see, she kneels beside the suffer- 
er's bed, 

And pray- that Bewould spare her boy,and take her- 
self instead. 

She gets her answer from the child: soft fall the 

words from him. 
•♦Mother, tin- angels •'■> si. smile, ami beckon little Jim. 



Ha 1 uttered tie' last words shemightcverhopetohear: 
The cottage door i- opened, the collier's sti pi 
, ami the mother meet, yel 
word. 

He felt that all was over, he knew hi- child 

H, the candle in his hand and walked towards 

the bed : 
His quivering lips gave token of the grief he'd fain 

C '-al. 

Ami <.•.•, his wife ha- joined him — tin- stricken couple 

kneel : 
\\ ith hearts bowed down by sadness, th< j humbly ask 

..f Him. 
l'i heaven, once more, t.. meet again their own poor 

little Jim. 



o88 



THE ROYAL GALLEEY 



LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT. 



'M sittin' on the stile, Mary, 

Where we sat side by side 
On a bright May mornin' long ago, 

"When first you were my bride; 
The corn was springin' fresh and green, 

And the lark sang loud and high ; 
And the red was on your lip, Mary, 

And the love-light iu your eye. 



'lis but a step down yonder lane, 

And the little church stands uear — 
The church where we were wed, Mary, 

I see the spire from here. 
But the graveyard lies between, Mary, 

And my step might break your rest— 
For I 've laid you, darling, down to sle 

With your baby on your breast. 




: 'The place is little changed, Mary- 
The day is bright as then." 



The place is little changed, Mary — 

The day is bright as then ; 
The lark's loud song is in my ear, 

And the corn is green again ; 
But I miss the soft clasp of your hand, 

And your breath, warm on my cheek; 
And r still keep list'nin' for the words 

You nevermore will speak. 



I 'm very lonely now, Maiy, 

For the poor make no new friends ; 
But, O, they love the better still 

The few our Father sends ! 
And you were all I had, Mary. 

My blessiu' and my pride; 
There 's nothing left to care for now, 

Since my poor Mary died. 



GRIEF \M> PATHOS. 



189 



Yours was the good, brave heart, Mnry ; 

That still kept hopiug on, 
When the trust in God had Lefl my soul, 

And my arm*.- young strength was gone; 
There was comfort ever on your lip. 

And the kind look on your brow — 
I bless you, Mary, Cor that same, 

Though you cannol hear me now- 



I in biddin' you a long farewell, 

•i . Mary, kind and true! 
J'ut I II not forget you, darling, 

lii the laud 1" m goiu' to; 
They say there 's bread and work for all, 

And the sun Bhines always there- 
Bui I 11 not forget old Ireland, 

Were II tiiiv times as fair! 




I thank you for the pnticnl s 
When your hearl was tit to break — 

When rli<' hunger-pain was gnaw in' there, 
And you hid it for my sake; 

I bless you tor the plea-ant word. 

When your heart was sad and sore — 
O. I'm thankful you are gone. Mary, 

Where grief can't reach you more! 



And often iii those grand old woods 

I 'll sit and shut my eyes, 
And my heart will travel back again 

To the place where Mary lie.-; 
And I *11 think I see the little stile 

Where we sal side by side. 
And the springin' corn, and the bright May morn 
When first you were my bride. 

Lady Dufkerin. 



390 



THE KOYAL GALLEKl'. 



THE OLD SEXTON. 



gIGH to a grave that was newly made 
Leaned a sexton old on his earth-wuiu spade; 
His work was done, and he paused to wait 
The funeral train at the open gate. 
A relic of bygone days was he, 
And his locks were as white as the foamy sea; 
And these words came from his lips so thin : 
" I gather them in — I gather them in— 
Gather — gather— I gather them in. 

"I gather them in; for man and hoy, 

Year after year of grief and joy, 

I 've builded the houses that lie around 

In every nook of this burial-ground. 

Mother and daughter, father and son, 

Come to my solitude one by one; 

But come they stranger or come they kin, 

I gather them in— I gather them in. 



"Many are with me, yet I 'm alone; 

I 'm King of the Dead, aud I make my throne 

On a monument slab of marble cold — 

My sceptre of rule is the spade I hold. 

Come they from cottage, or come they from hall, 

Mankind are my subjects, all, all. all! 

May they loiter in pleasure, or toilf ully spin, 

I gather them in — I gather them in. 

"I gather them in, and their final rest 

Is here, down here, in the earth's dark breast! " 

And the sexton ceased as the funeral train 

Wound mutely over that solemn plain; 

And I said to myself: When time is told, 

A mightier voice than that sexton's old 

Will be heard o'er the last trump's dreadful din: 

"I gather them in— I gather them in— 

Gather — gather — gather them in! " 

Park Benjamin. 



THE OLD ARM-CHAIR. 



m LOVE it — I love it, and who shall dare 
H To chide me for loving that old arm-chair! 

fl've treasured it long as a sainted prize— 
I've bedewed it with tears, and embalmed it with 
sighs; 
'Tis bound by a thousand bands to my heart, 
Not a tie will break, not a liuk will start. 
Would you learn the spell? a mother sat there; 
And a sacred thing is that old arm-chair. 

In childhood's hour I lingered near 

The hallowed seat with listening ear; 

And gentle words that mother would give, 

To fit me to die, and teach me to live. 

She told me shame would never betide, 

With truth for my creed, and God for my guide; 

She taught me to lisp my earliest prayer, 

As I knelt beside that old arm-chair. 



I sat and watched her many a day, 

When her eyes grew dim and her locks were gray 

And I almost worshiped her when she smiled 

Aud turned from her Bible to bless her child. 

Years rolled on, but the last one sped — 

My idol was shattered— my earth-star fled -. 

I learnt how much the heart can bear, 

When I saw her die in that old arm-chair. 

'Tis past ! 'tis past ! but I gaze on it now 
With quivering breath and throbbing brow : 
'Twas there she nursed me — 'twas there she died, 
And memory flowed with lava tide — 
Say it is folly, and deem me weak, 
While the scalding tears run down my cheek. 
But I love it — I love it, and cannot tear 
My soul from my mother's old arm-chair. 

Eliza Cook. 



MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN 



?HEN" chill November's surly blast 
] Made fields and forests bare, 
& One evening, as I wandered forth 
Along the banks of Ayr, 
I spied a man whose aged step 

Seemed weary, worn with care ; 
His face was furrowed o'er with years, 
And hoary was his hair. 



" Young stranger, whither wanderest thou? ' 

Began the reverend sage; 
" Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain, 

Or youthful pleasures rage? 
Or haply, prest with cares and woes, 

Too soon thou hast began 
To wander forth, with me, to mourn 

The miseries of man ! 



GRIEF A.\u PATHOS. 



391 



u The -mi thai overhangs yon moors, 

Outspreading far and wide. 
Where hundreds labor !•• support 
A uaught} lordliug's pride. — 
J 've Been j on wear} w inter sun 

I w ice fortj times return; 
And every fimc ha- added proofs 

Thai man was made to mourn. 

'• o man. while in thy early years, 

How prodigal "i time] 
Misspending all thy precious hours, 

Tin glorious j outhful prime! 
Alternate follies take tin- Bwaj ; 

Licentious passions burn; 
Which tenfold force gives Nature's law, 

Thai man was made to iiumiiii. 
'• I. ni.k IH'I aln in- mi \ OUthful inline. 

Or man! d's active might; 

Man then i- useful t<' hi- kind. 

Supported in hi- righl ; 
Bnl Bee him mi iin- 1- ige ol life, 

With cares and Borrows worn, 
Then age and warn. t> ill-matched pair! 

BhOW man was made I.. in.. inn. 



seem favorites ol fate, 
asure's lap caresl ; 



it A f( ., 

In |. 
Yet think iinl all the rich and great 

\iv likewise trulj blest 

But, O, what crowds in OVCrj land 

Are wretched and forlorn] 
Through wearj lit.' this lesson learn, - 

That man was made to inmirn. 

'• Main and sharp tin- numerous ills, 

Inwoven « ith our frame! 
More pointed -till we make ourselves, 

Regret, renioi -•. and shame! 



And man, whose heaven-erected face 

Tin- -mill-.- nt love adorn, 
Man'- inhumanity to man 

Hakes countless thousands mourn! 

"See yonder poor, ..'• rlabored wight, 

So abject, mean, and vile, 
W'h.i begs a brother ol tin- earth 

'I'.. give him leave to toil; 
Ami see hi- lordl] fellow -worm 

The i • petition Bpnrn, 

Unmindful, though a weeping 

Ami helpless offspring mouru. 

" li I 'm designed yon lordling's slave, 

Bj Nature's law designed,— 
Whj wa- an independent wish 

E'er planted in ray mind? 
if nut. why am l subject t.. 

Hi- cruelty or scorn? 

Or w by ha- man lie- w ill and power 

To make hi- fellov mourn? 

•• yel lei nol this t mch, mj -mi. 

Disturb th\ youthful breast : 
This partial \hw ol humankind 

I- -ureh nol tin- la-t I 

Tin- | oppressed, honest man 

Had never, sure, been born, 
Had there nol been Bome recompense 

i it'iit those thai iru: 

'• "» l >eath! tin- | ■ man'- dearcsl friend, 

'I'll.' kindest ami the besl ! 
Welcome tin- hour mj aged Limbs 

Are laid w ith thee al rest ! 

'I'll.- great, tin- wealthy, fear thy blows, 
From pomp and pleasure torn : 

But <>. a blesl reliel to those 
That weary-laden mouru! '" 

ROBEKT lit I.N 



-I- in-: three ftshkrs. 



REE fishers went sailing out into the west, 

Out into the we-t a- the -mi went down: 
Each thought mi the woman who loved him the 

best, 

And the children stood watching them out of 
the town: 
For men must work, and women must weep, 
And there's little to earn, and many to keep, 
Though the harbor bar be moaning. 



Three wives sat up in the lighthouse tower. 

And they trimmed the lamps as the sun went down; 
They looked at the squall, and they looked at the 
shower, 



And the night-rack came rolling up ragged and 

tlpiW 11. 

But men inu-t work, and women musl weep, 

Though storms !><• sudden, ami waters deep, 
And the harbor bar i" 1 moaning. 

Three corpses lay out on the shining sands 

In tin- morning gleam a- the tide went down, 

And the wmnen are weeping and wringing their hands 

For those who will never come home to the town; 

For men must WOrk, and women must weep. 

And the sooner it - over, the sooner to sleep; 

And good-by to the bar and its moaning. 

Charles Kixgsley. 



392 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



THE BEGGAR. 



l|lf§ITY the sorrows of a poor old man ! 
i«§li Whose trembling limbs have borne him to 
Jx * your door, 

X Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span, 
O, give relief, and Heaven will bless your 
store. 

These tattered clothes my poverty bespeak, 
These hoary locks proclaim my lengthened years ; 

And many a furrow in my grief -worn cheek 
Has been the channel to a stream of tears. 




'Pity the 



poor old man 



Yon house, erected on the rising ground, 
With tempting aspect drew me from my road 

For plenty there a residence has found, 
And grandeur a magnificent abode. 



(Hard is the fate of the infirm and poor!) 
Here craving for a morsel of their bread, 

A pampered menial forced me from the door, 
To seek a shelter in a humbler shed. 

O, take me to your hospitable home, 
Keen blows the wind, and piercing is the cold ! 

Short is my passage to the friendly tomb, 
For I am poor and miserably old. 

Should I reveal the source of every grief, 
If soft humanity e'er touched your breast, 

Your hands would not withhold the kind relief, 
And tears of pity could not be repressed. 

Heaven sends misfortunes — why should we repine? 

'Tis Heaven has brought me to the state you see : 
And your condition may be soon like mine, 

The child of sorrow and of misery. 

A little farm was my paternal lot, 

Then, like the lark, I sprightly hailed the morn; 
But ah! oppression forced me from my cot; 

My cattle died, and blighted was my corn. 

My daughter, — once the comfort of my age ! 

Lured by a villain from her native home, 
Is cast, abandoned, on the world's wild stage, 

And doomed in scanty poverty to roam. 

My tender wife, — sweet soother of my care! — 
Struck with sad anguish at the stern decree, 

Fell, — lingering fell, a victim to despair, 
And left the world to wretchedness and me. 

Pity the sorrows of a poor old man ! 
Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your 
door, 
Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span, 
O, give relief, and heaven will bless your store. 

Thomas Moss. 



THE VOICE OF THE POOR. 

[In the Irish Famine of '47.] 



flf AS ever sorrow like to our sorrow, 

H O God above? 

8§j^ Will our night never change into a morrow 

Of joy and love? 
A deadly gloom is on us, waking, sleeping, 

Like the darkness at noontide 
That fell upon the pallid mother, weeping 
By the Crucified. 

Before us die our brothers of starvation; 

Around us cries of famine and despair; 
Where is hope for us, or comfort, or salvation — 

Where, where? 



If the angels ever hearken, downward bending, 
They are weeping, we are sure. 

At the litanies of human groans ascending 
From the crushed hearts of the poor. 

When the human rest in love upon the human 

All grief is light ; 
But who bends one kind glance to illumine 

Our life-long night? 
The air around is ringing with their laughter — 

God has only made the rich to smile ; 
But we in rags and want and woe — we follow after, 

Weeping the while. 



OK1FF AXD PATHOS. 



303 



We never knew a childhood's mirth ami gladness, 

Nor the proud heart of youth, free ami 
brave ; 
A deathlike dream of wretchedness and -sadness 

Is our life's journey to the grave; 
Day by day we Lower -ink and lower, 

Till the God-like soul within 
Falls crushed beneath the fearful demon power 

Of poverty and Bin. 



We iiiu-t toil though the light of life is binning. 

Oh, how dim! 
We must t"ii nn our sick-bed, feebly turning 

Our eye- t,, Him 

Who alone can hear tin- pale lip faintly sa] ing, 
With scarce-moved breath, 

While- tin- paler hand- uplifted are. and praying, 
-Lord, grant us death! " 

Lady Wilde (Speranza). 



UNDER THE DAISIES 



HAVE just been learning the lesson of life, 

The sad, Bad lesson of loving, 
Anil all Of it.- power for pleasure and pain 

Been slowly, sadly pr<>\ in u r : 
And all that is left of the bright, bright dream, 

With its thousand brilliam phases, 
Is a handful of dusl in a coffin hid — 
A coffin under the daisies; 
Tie' beautiful, beautiful daisies, 
The snow) . -now \ daisies. 

And thus forever throughout tin- world 
1- love a sorrow proving; 

There '- many a -ad. -ad thing in life, 

p.ut tie- Baddest of all i- loi Log. 
Life often divides far u ider than death : 

Stern fortune the high wall raises: 



But better far than two lean- .--tranged 
1- a low grave starred « ith dais 
Tie- beautiful, beautiful daisies, 
The snowj . -new \ daisies. 

And so 1 am>glad thai we lived a- <m did, 

Through tli- summer -t love together, 
And that one of us, wearied, laj down i- rest, 

l.i'- tie- coming "i ■ inter weather; 
For tie- sadness of love i- love grov - 

And 'tis on,- ( .f it- surest phases; 
go I bless my God, with a breaking lean. 

For that grave enstarred with daisies; 
lie beautiful, beautiful daisies, 
The Bnowy, snowy daisies. 

ll.\l in. Tyng Gbiswold. 



EXILE OF ERIN. 



IjlIYdlEKF came to the bench a poor Exile of Erin, 
c^~*. The dew on his thin robe was heavy and chill; 
'?'*■ For hi- country In- -ighed. when at twilight re- 
Ji pairing 

To wander alone by the wind-beaten hill: 

Bill the day-star attracted his eye's sad devotion, 

For it rose o'er his own native Isle "f the "nan. 

Where once, in the fire of his youthful emotion, 

lie sang the bold anthem of Erin go bragh. 

'•Sad is my fate! " said the heart-broken stranger; 

••The wild deer and wolf to a covert can flee, 
But I have no refuge from famine and danger, 

A home and a country remain not to me, 
Never again, in the green sunny bowers, 
Where my forefathers lived, shall I spend the sweet 

hours. 
Or cover my harp with the wild woven flown-. 

And strike to the numbers of Erin go bragh! 

"Erin, my country! though sad and forsaken. 
In dreams I revisit thy sea-beaten shore; 

But, alas! in a far foreign land I awaken, 
And sigh ior the friends who can meet me no more! 



O cruel fate! wilt thou never r< place me 
In a mansion of peace,— where no perils can cbasi me! 
Never again -hall my brothers embrace me? 
l'li. \ di< d to di fend me or live to deplore! 

"Where is my cabin-door, fast by tie- wildv I? 

Sisters and -in-: did ye weep to.- it- fall? 
Where i< tin- mother thai looked on mj child! I: 

And where Is Ml- bosom friend dearer than ally 
< i. my -ad heari ! long abandoned bj pie is 
Why did it d..t.- on .i fast-fading treasure? 
Tears, like- tin- rain-drop, may fall without measure, 

But rapture and beauty thej cannot recall. 
••Yet. all it< sad recollections suppressing, 

One dying wish my lone bosom iandraw; 
Erin! an exile bequeaths thee hi- Messing! 

Land of my forefathers! Erin go bragh! 
Buried and .-old. when my lean -till- her motion, 
Green be thy fields. — weetest isle of the ocean! 
And thy harp-striking bards sing aloud with devo- 
tion. — 

Erin mavournin, — Erin go bragh ' " 

Thomas Campbell. 



394 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



WHEN THE GRASS SHALL COVER ME. 



<HEN the grass shall cover me, 
I Head to foot where I am lying; 
f When not any wind that blows, 
Summer blooms nor winter snows, 
Shall awake me to your sighing ; 
Close above me as you pass, 
You will say, '• How kind she was," 
You will say, " How true she was," 
When the grass grows over me. 

When the grass shall cover me, 
Holden close to Earth's warm bosom; 
While I laugh, or weep , or sing 
Nevermore for anything ; 
You will find in blade and blossom, 



Sweet, small voices, odorous, 
Tender pleaders in my cause, 
That shall speak me as I was — 
When the grass grows over me. 

When the grass shall cover me ! 
Ah, belov6d, in my sorrow 
Very patient, I can wait — 
Knowing that or soon or late, 
There will dawn a clearer morrow ; 
When your heart will moan, "Alas! 
Now I know how true she was; 
Now I know how dear she was," 
When the grass grows over me ! 

Ina D. Coolbrith. 



-G-^sui/Z^^zjlnrv 



SLEEP. 

He giveth his beloved sleep." — Psalm cxxvi. : 



§f§||F all the thoughts of God that are 
jW, Borne inward unto souls afar, 
*W^ Among the Psalmist's music deep, 
J4 Now tell me if that any is, 

For gift or grace, surpassing this, — 
" He giveth his beloved sleep? " 

What would we give to our beloved? 
The hero's heart, to be unmoved, — 
The poet's star-tuned harp, to sweep, — 
The patriot's voice, to teach and rouse, — 
The monarch's crown, to light the brows? 
"He giveth his beloved sleep." 

What do we give to our beloved? 
A little faith, all undisproved, — 
A little dust to overweep, 
And bitter memories, to make 
The whole earth blasted for our sake, 
"He giveth his beloved sleep." 

" Sleep soft, beloved! " we sometimes say, 

But have no tune to charm away 

Sad dreams tha.t through the eyelids creep ; 



3^5^S- 



But never doleful dream agaii* 
Shall break the happy slumber when 
" He giveth his beloved sleep." 

O earth, so full of dreary noise! 
O men, with wailing in your voice ! 
O delved gold the wailers heap ! 
O strife, O curse, that o'er it fall! 
God strikes a silence through you all. 
And "giveth his beloved sleep." 

His dews drop mutely on the hill. 
His cloud above it saileth still, 
Though on its slope men sow and reap ; 
More softly than the dew is shed, 
Or cloud is floated overhead, 
"He giveth his beloved sleep." 

For me, my heart, that erst did go 
Most like a tired child at a show, 
That sees through tears the mummers leap, 
Would now its wearied vision close, 
Would childlike on his love repose 
Who " giveth his beloved sleep." 

Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 

-4» 



THE SONG- OF THE SHIRT. 



'ITH fingers weary and worn, 

With eyelids heavy and red, 
A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, 

Plying her needle and thread — 
Stitch! stitch! stitch! 

In poverty, hunger, and dirt. 
And still, with a voice of dolorous pitch, 

She sang the ' Sons: of the Shirt! " 



"Work! work! work! 
While the cock is crowing aloof! 
And work — work— work ! 

Till the stars shine through the roof! 
It 's oh ! to be a slave 

Along with the barbarous Turk, 
Where woman has never a soul to save, 

If this is Christian work! 



GKlr^r AND PATHOS. 



3ys 



"Work — work— work ! 

Till the brain begins to swim! 
Work — work— work ! 

Till the eyes are heavy and dim! 
Beam, and gusset, and band, 

Band, and ir>i--'< - and seam, 
Till over the buttons I tall asleep, 

Ami B6W them on in n,\ dream 1 

Oh! men with sisters dear! 

Oh! men with mothers and wives I 
li i- noi linen you 're wearing out, 

Bui human creatures' lives! 
Btltch— etitch— etitch! 

in poverty . hunger, and dirt, 
Sewing at once with a double thread, 

A SHBOl l> a> well a- -hill I 

"Bui why 'I-. l talk of death, 

That pliant. .in of grisly bone? 
1 hardly fear his terrible shape, 

li Beems bo like mj own— 
li seems bo like my own, 

Because of the (asl l keep: 
OGod! thai bread Bhould be so dear, 

And flesh ami bl l so cheap! 

"Work— work— work! 

My labor never flags; 
And wliu are n< wages! \ bed of straw, 

a cruel ol bread— and rags : 
A shattered roof— and this naked floor— 

A tabic — a broken chair— 
And a wall so blank, mj ahadov i thank 

For sometimes falling there! 

"Work— work— work! 
Prom weary chime to chime; 

'•Work— work— work ! 

As prisoners work for crime! 
Band, and gusset, and seam, 

Seam, and gusset, and band, 
Till the heart is sick, and the brain benumbed 

As well a< the weary hand! 

"Work— work— work! 
In the dull December light; 

And work — work— work! 

When the weather is clear and bright: 
While underneath the eaves 

The brooding swallows cling, 
As if to show inr their sunny backs, 

And twit me with the spring. 

"Oh! but to breathe the breath 
Of the cowslip and primrose sweet; 

With the sky above my head. 
And the grass beneath my feet: 



For only one short hour 

To feel as 1 used to (eel, 
Before I know the woes of want. 

And the walk thai costs a meal. 

"Oh! but for one short hour! 

A respite, however briel I 
No blessed leisure for love or hope, 

lint only time for grief! 
A little weeping would ease my hea 

But in their brinj bed 
3I\ tears musl stop, for everj drop 

Hinder, oeedle and thread!" 








blank, mv shadow I thank 
For sometimes falling there." 



With fingers weary and worn, 

With eyelid- ln-a\ j and red, 
A woman sat, in unwomanlj rags, 

Plying her no. die and thread; 
Stitch— stitch— stitch 1 

In poverty, hunger, and dirt; 
And —till with a voice of dolorous pitch!- 
Would that its tone could reach the rich!- 

She sung this -'Song of the Shirt!*' 



Thomas Hood. 



39 G 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



THE CONQUERED BANNER. 



lURL that banner, for 'tis weary ; 
Round its staff 'tis drooping dreary, 

Furl it, fold it, it is best; 
For there 's not a man to wave it, 
And there's not a sword to save it, 
And there's not one left to lave it 
In the blood which heroes gave it; 
And its foes now scorn and brave it: 

Furl it, hide it — let it rest. 

Take that banner down, 'tis tattered! 
.Broken is its shaft and shattered, 
And the valiant host are scattered, 

Over whom it floated high. 
Oh, 'tis hard for us to fold it! 
Hard to think there's none to hold it; 
Hard that those that once unrolled it 

Now must furl it with a sigh. 

Furl that banner — furl it sadly — 
Once ten thousands hailed it gladly 
And ten thousands wildly, madly, 

Swore it should forever wave — 
Swore that f oeman's sword should never 
Hearts like theirs entwined dissever, 
'Till that flag should float forever 

O er their freedom or their grave .' 



Furl it! for the hands that grasped it, 
And the hearts that clasped it. 

Cold and dead are lying low ; 
And that banner — it is trailing! 
While around it sounds the wailing 

Of its people in their woe. 

For though conquered, they adore it! 
Love the cold dead hands that bore it! 
Weep for those who fell before it ! 
Pardon those who trailed and tore it! 
But, oh ! wildly they deplore it, 
Now, who furl and fold it so. 

Furl that banner ! True, 'tis gory, 
Yet 'tis wreathed around with glory, 
And 'twill live in song and story 

Though its folds are in the dust : 
For its fame on brightest pages, 
Penned by poets and by sages, 
Shall go sounding down the ages — 

Furl its folds though uow we must. 

Furl that banner, softly, slowly ; 
Treat it gently — it is holy. 

For it droops above the dead. 
Touch it not — unfold it never — 
L,et it droop there furled forever, 

For its people's hopes are dead ! 

Abram T. Ryan. 



IF. 



|pF. sitting with this little worn-out shoe 
Hi And scarlet stocking lying on my knee, 

¥1 knew the little feet had pattered through 
The pearl-set gates that lie 'twixt Heaven and 
me, 
I could be reconciled and happy too, 
And look with glad eyes toward the jasper sea. 

If in the morning, when the song of birds 
Reminds me of a music far more sweet, 

I listen for his pretty, broken words, 
And for the music of his dimpled feet, 

I could be almost happy, though I heard 
No answer, and but saw his vacant seat. 

I could be glad if, when the day is done, 
And all its cares and heartaches laid away, 

I could look westward to the hidden sun, 
And, with a heart full of sweet yearnings, say — 

"To-night I 'm nearer to my little one 
By just the travel of a single day." 



If I could know those little feet were shod 
In sandals wrought of light in better lands, 

And that the foot-prints of a tender God 
Ran side by side with him, in golden sands, 

I could bow cheerfully and kiss the rod, 
Since Benny was in wiser, safer hands. 

If he were dead, I would not sit to-day 
And stain with tears the wee sock on my knee; 

I would not kiss the tiny shoe and say — 
"Bring back again my little boy to me! " 

I would be patient, knowing 't was God's way, 
And wait to meet him o'er death's silent sea. 

But oh ! to know the feet, once pure and white, 
The haunts of vice had boldly ventured in ! 

The hands that should have battled for the right 
Had been wrung crimson in the clasp of sin! 

And should he knock at Heaven's gate to-night, 
To fear my boy could hardly enter in ! 

May Riley Smith. 



sS the tree is fertilized by its own broken branches and fallen leaves, and grows out of 
B its own decay, so is the soul of man ripened out of broken hopes and blighted 



affections. 



GRIEF AND PATHOS. 



397 



SOMEBODY'S DARLING. 



iNTO award of the whitewashed walls, 

Where the dead and dying lay, 
, Wounded by bayonets, shells, ami balls, 
Somebody's Darling was borne one day — 
Somebody's Darling, so young and so brave, 

Wearing yet on Ids pair, sweet fact-. 
Soon to be hid by the dust of the grave. 
The lingering light of In- boyhood's grace. 

Matted and damp arc the curls "f gold, 
Kinging the snow of thai fair young brow; 

Pale are the lips of delicate mould— 
Somebody"* Darling i- dj Ing now . 



Somebody'^ hand had rested there, — 

Was it a mother'- soft and white? 
And have' the lip- of a sister fair 

Been baptized in those wave- of light? 

God knows best; be has e sbody'slove; 

Somebody"- heart enshrined him there; 
Somebody wafted hi- aame above, 

Night and mom on t|„' wing- of prayer. 

Somebody wept when he marched away. 
Looking so handsome, brave, and grand; 

Somebody's ki-- on hi- forehead lay, 
Somebody clung to hi- parting hand. 



1 m i^siiiU 







=- ^j1 



m 

■ 

— 



imcbody's ilarling bluniN • 



Baek from his beautiful blue-veined brow 

Brush all the wandering waves of gold, 

Cross his hands on hi- bog now. 

Somebody's Darling is -till and cold. 

Kiss him ouce for somebody's sake. 

Murmur a prayer soft and low; 
One bright eurl from its fair mates take. 

They were somebody's pride, you know: 



Somebody's waiting and watching for him — 
Teaming to bold him again to the heart; 

And there he lie- with hi- blue eyes dim. 
And tie' smiling childlike lip- apart 

Tenderly bury the fair young dead, 
Pausing to drop on hi- grave a tear: 

( larve on the wooden -lab at his head, — 
■■ Somebody - I ' n ling -lumbers here." 

Maiue R. Lacoste. 



k 

j'HEX thou, in all thy loveliness. 
Sweet Rosalie, wert mine, 
w Of Earth's one more, of Heaven's 
J^ I counted things divine. 

But since the lilies o'er thy breast 
Uut of the sweetness spriug. 



ROSALIE. 



Of love's delight I miss the rest 
And keep alone the sting. 

'fill now I reckon things divine 

Not a- I did before; 
Earth's -hare has dwindled down to mine, 

And Heaven has all the more. 

William C. Richards. 



338 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



TWO MYSTERIES. 



of the poet. Near it, in a great chair, 



[" In the middle of the room, in its white coffin, lay the dead child, the nep 
sat Walt Whitman, surrounded by little ones, and holding a beautiful little girl on his lap. " She looked wonderinglv at the 
spectacle of death, and then inquiringly into the old man's face. 'You don't know what it is, do you, my dear?" "said he. 
and added, ' We don't, either.' "J 



WE know not what it is, dear, this sleep so deep 
rMM and still; 

7§f y y The folded hands, the awful calm, the cheek so 
jj pale and chill; 

The lids that will not lift again, though we 
may call and call ; 
The strange white solitude of peace that settles over all. 

"We know not what it means, dear, this desolate heart- 
pain; 

This dread to take our daily way, and walk in it again ; 

We know not to what other sphere the loved who 
leave us go, 

Nor why we 're left to wonder still, nor why we do 
not know. 

But this we know: Our loved and dead, if they 

should come this day — 
>Should come and ask us, " What is life? " not one of 

us could say. 



Life is a mystery, as deep as ever death can be ; 
Yet, O, how dear it is to us, this life we live and 



Then might they say — these vanished ones — and 

blessed is the thought, 
" So death is sweet to us, beloved ! though we may 

show you naught ; 
We may not to the quick reveal the mystery of death — 
Ye cannot tell us, if ye would, the mystery of breath." 

The child who enters life comes not with knowledge 
or intent, 

So those who enter death must go as little children 
sent. 

Nothing is known. But I believe that God is over- 
head; 

And as life is to the living, so death is to the dead. 

Maky Mapes Dodge. 



FLORENCE VANE. 



LOVED thee long and dearly, 

Florence Vane. 
My life's bright dream, and early 

Hath come again ; 
I renew in my fond vision, 

My heart's dear pain, 
My hope, and thy derision, 

Florence Vane. 

'The ruin lone and hoary, 

The ruin old, 
Where thou didst mark my story, 

At even told, — 
That spot — the hues Elysian 

Of sky and plain — 
I treasure in my vision, 

Florence Vane. 

Thou wast lovelier than the roses 

In their prime ; 
Thy voice excelled the closes 

Of sweetest rhyme ; 



Thy heart was a river 

Without a main. 
Would I had loved thee never, 

Florence Vane. 

But fairest, coldest wonder! 

Thy glorious clay 
Lieth the green sod under— 

Alas the day! 
And it boots not to remember 

Thy disdain — 
To quicken love's pale ember, 

Florence Vane. 

The lilies of the valley 

By young graves weep, 
The pansies love to dally 

Where maidens sleep; 
May their bloom in beauty vying 

Never waue, 
Where thine earthly part is lying, 

Florence Vane ! 

Phillip Pendleton Cooke. 



A MOTHER'S HEART. 



ffiSt*} LITTLE dreaming, such as mothers know; 
^(11 A little lingering over dainty things; 
'W^ A happy heart, wherein hope all aglow 
J*l Stirs like a bird at dawn that wakes and sings, 
And that is all. 



A little clasping to her yearning breast; 

A little musing over future years ; 
A heart that prays : "Dear Lord, thou knowest best - 

But spare my flower life's bitterest rain of tears "- 
And that is all. 



OK1EF AND PATHOS. 



A little spirit speeding through the night; 

A little homegrown lonely, dark and chill; 
A sad heart groping blindly fur the light ; 

A little .snow-clad grave beneath the hill — 
And that is all. 



A little gathering of life's broken thread ; 
A little patience keeping back the tears; 
A heart thai sings, "Thy darling is not dead, 

God keeps her safe through his eternal years — 
And that Is all. 
'33^ *■ 



THE DYING BOY, 



lj k'\l:\V a Imv. who-e infant feet had trod 
«*» (pun th«' hlo-xmi- ill -nine seven .-prin^. 
J/:* And when the eighth came round; and called him 
♦ out 

To gambol In the son, he turned away 

And sought bis chamber, to lie down and die! 

Twas night — he summoned his accustomed friends, 
And mi this wise bestowed hi- last bequest: — 

" Mother! I "in dying now; — 
There Is deep suffocation in my breast, 
A< ii -nine heavy hand my bosom pressed; 

And on my brow 

" I feel the cold -weat stand: 

My lips grow dry and tremulous, and my breath 
Oomes feebly up. Oh! tell me, Is this death? 
Mother! your hand — 

•• I Iii i- — lay it on my wrist, 
And place the other iiiu-. beneath my head, 
And say. sweet mother! — Bay, when I am dead, 

shall l be missed? 

•• Never beside your knee 
Shall I kneel down again ai night in pray, 
Nor with the morning wake and sing the lav 

You taught to me! 

"Oh ! at the time of prayer, 

When you look round and see a vacant seat, 
You will nni wall thru for ni\ coming feet— 

You'll miss me I here! — 

'■ Father! I'm going home! 
To the good home you speak of, that blest land 
Where li is our bright summer always, and 

Storms do not come. 



•• 1 mii-t be happy then: 
In. in pain and death you say I shall be free — 
That sickness never enters there, and we 

Shall meet again! " — 

•• Brother! the little Bpol 
I used to call mj garden, where long hours 
We've stayed to watch the- budding things and tlowera. 

Forget it not: 

'• Plant then- gome bos orpine — 
Something that lives in winter, and will he 
A verdant offering t" my memory, 

And call it mine: " 

■• Sister! my young rose-tree — 
That all the spring has been my plea-ant care, 
.lu-t putting forth it- leaves bo green and fair, 

l give it thee. 

'•And when il- r - bloom, 

I shall be gone away — my short life done! 

But will \ni t bestow a single one 

Upon my t b? " 

■ Now, tin. th.-r. sing the tune 
You sang last night - - I'm weary and must sleep! 
Who was it called mj name! — Nay, do not weep, 

Y"il 'II all .•.■iiie BOOH I 

Mn ruin- spread over earth her rosy wings- 
Ami that k sufferer, cold ami Ivory pale. 

Lay mi hi- 1 h asleep! The gentle air 

Came through the open window, freighted w 1th 

The savory odors "i ii arlj spring. 

Be breathed il not! The laugh ol passers-by 

Jarred like a discord in some ornful tune. 

But it marred not his slumbers — He was dead! 



' 



AXGELUS mini;. 



CE at (he Angelus 

(Ere I was dead), 

Angels all glorious, 

< lame ti> my bed: — 
Angels in blue and white 
Crowned mi the Head. 

One was the Friend I left 
Stark in the snow; 

One was the Wife that die 
Lon<r — lousr ago; 



One was the Love I lost — 
How could she know? 

One had my Mother's eyes. 

Wistful and mild: 
One had my Father's face; 

One was a Child; 
All of them bent to me, — 

Bent down and smiled. 



ACSTIN DOSSON. 



400 



THE KOYAL GALLERY. 



OUR CHILDHOOD. 



?S sad yet sweet to listen to the south-wind's Like the changeful gleams of April, they followed 
gentle swell, every tear: 

And think we hear the music our childhood They have passed— like hopes — away, and their love- 
knew so well ; liness has fled ; 
To gaze out on the even, and the boundless fields of ah, Oh ! many a heart is mourning that they are with the 
And feel again our boyhood's wish to roam like angels dead. 

there. Like the brightest buds of summer they have fallen 

with the stem ; 
There are many dreams of gladness that cling around y e t, oh, it is a lovely death to fade from earth like 

the past, 
And from the tomb of feeling old thoughts come 

thronging fast; 
The forms we loved so dearly in the happy days now 

gone, 
The beautiful and lovely, so fair to look upon. 



Those bright and gentle maidens, who seemed so 

formed for bliss, 
Too glorious and too heavenly for such a world as 

this— 
Whose dark, soft eyes seemed swimming in a sea of 

liquid light, 
And whose locks of gold were streaming o'er brows so 

sunny bright; 



them! 

And yet the thought is saddening to muse on such as 

they, 
And feel that all the beautiful are passing fast away; 
That the fair ones whom we love grow to each loving 

breast 
Like the tendril of the clinging vine, then perish 

where they rest. 



And we can but think of these, in the soft and gentle 

Spring, 
When the trees are waving o'er us, and the flowers are 

blossoming ; 
And we know that Winter 's coming with his cold and 
stormy sky, 

Whose smiles were like the sunshine in the spring- And the glorious beauty round us is budding but to 
time of the year — die ! 

George D. Prentice. 



THE LAKE OF THE DISMAL SWAMP. 



[EY made her a grave, too cold and damp 

For a heart so warm and true ; 
And she's gone to the Lake of the Dismal 

Swamp 
Where, all night long, by a flre-fly lamp, 

She paddles her white canoe!" 

" And her fire-fly lamp I soon shall see, 

And her paddle I soon shall hear ; 
Long and loving our life shall be, 
And I '11 hide the maid in a cypress tree, 

When the footstep of death is near!" 

Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds— 

His path was rugged and sore, 
Through tangled juniper, beds of reeds, 
Through many a fen, where the serpent feeds, 

And man never trod before ! 

And, when on the earth he sunk to sleep, 

If slumber his eyelids knew. 
He lay, where the deadly vine doth weep 
Its venomous tear, and nightly steep 

The flesh with blistering dew! 



And near him the she-wolf stirred the brake, 
And the copper-snake breathed in his ear, 
Till he starting cried, from his dream awake, 
"Oh. when shall I see the dusky lake, 
And the white canoe of my dear?" 

He saw the lake, and a meteor bright 

Quick over its surface played— 
"Welcome," he said, "my dear one's light," 
And the dim shore echoed, for many a night, 

The name of the death-cold maid ! 

Till he hollowed a boat of the birchen bark, 

Which carried him off from shore ; 
Far, far he followed the meteor spark, 
The wind was high and the clouds were dark, 
And the boat returned no more. 

But oft from the Indian hunter's camp, 

This lover and maid so true 
Are seen, at the hour of midnight damp, 
To cross the lake by a flre-fly lamp, 

And paddle their white canoe ! 

Thomas Moore. 



GRIEF AND PATHOS. 



401 



BALOW, MY BABE, LY STIL AND SLEIPE. 



ALOW, my babe, ly stil and sleipe! 

It grieves saur to see thee weipe; 

If thoii-t !)'■ >ili'iit, Ise be glad. 
Thy uaaining maka my heart ful sad. 
Balow, my boy, thy mither'sjoyl 
Thy father breides me great annoy. 

Balow, my babe, ly stil and aleipe! 

It grieve- me Bair to Bee thee weipe. 

When he began to court my lave, 
And with bis sugred words to muve, 
Hi- faynings fala and flattering cheire 
To me thai time did not appeire: 
But now I see, most cruel] hee, 
t area neither tor my babe nor mee. 
Balow. etc. 

Ly -til. my darlinge, Bleipe awhile 
And when thou wakest, sweitly smile : 
Bui smile not, as thy father did. 
To cozen maid-: naj . God forbid! 
Bui yette 1 feire, thon will gae neire, 
Thy [atheris barl and face to beire. 
Balow, etc 

I cannae chuse, bul ever will 
15c hiving i" thy father stil: 
Wii.i'uvir be gae, whaireir he ryde, 
Mj luve with him maun stil abyde: 
In we'd or wae, whaireir he gae, 
Mine hart can nelr depart him frae. 
Balow, etc. 

But doe not, doe not, prettle mine. 
To faynings tals thine hart incline; 
Be loyal to thy luver trew, 
And nevlr change hir tor a new: 
If gude or faire, of hir have care, 
For women'- bantling's wonderous Bair. 
Balow, etc. 

Bairn.', sin thy cruel father la gane, 
Thy winsome smiles maun else my paine; 



My babe and I 'II together live. 

Ee 'H comfort me when cares doe grieve; 

My babe and 1 righl -all will ly. 

And quite forgeit man'- cruelty. 

Balow, etc. 

Farewell, fareweil, thou falsest youth 

That ever ki-t a woman's mouth! 







L V^l 






%L -^ 




Mi I 



.;lv 



I wish all maid- be warned h\ mee, 
Nevir to trust man'- curtesy; 
For it we doe but chance to bow. 
T'li' > '11 use ii- then they '-are not how. 

Balow, my babe, ly -til and sleipe! 

It grieves me sair to see thee weipe^ 



A LIFE. 



SAY dawned; — within a curtained room, 
J Filled to faintness with perfume, 
A lady lay at point of doom. 

Day closed; — a child had seen the light; 
But for the lady, fair and bright, 
She rested in undreaming night. 

Spring rose; — the lady's grave was green, 
And near it oftentimes w as seen 
A gentle hoy, with thoughtful mien. 



Year- fled; —be wore a manly face. 
And struggled in the world's rough race. 
And won. at last, a lofty place. 

And then — he died! Behold before ye 

Humanity's poor »uiii and story; 

Life — Death — and all that is of Glory. 

Bryan Waller Procter. 
(Barry Cornwall ) 



402 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



ONLY A YEAR. 



|NE year ago, — a ringing voice, 
A clear blue eye, 
And clustering curls of sunny hair, 
Too fair to die. 

Only a year — no voice, no smile, 

No glance of eye, 
No clustering curls of golden hair, 

Fair hut to die ! 

me year ago — what loves, what schemes 
Far into life ! 
What joyous hopes, what high resolves, 
What generous strife ! 

The silent picture on the wall, 

The burial-stone 
Of all that beauty, life, and joy, 

Remain alone! 

One year, — one year, one little year, 

And so much gone ! 
And yet the even flow of life 

Moves calmly on. 

The grave grows green, the flowers bloom fair 
Above that head ; 



No sorrowing tint of leaf or spray 
Says he is dead. 

No pause or hush of merry birds 

That sing above, 
Tell us how coldly sleeps below 

The form we love. 

Where hast thou been this year, beloved? 

What hast thou seen, — 
What visions fair, what glorious liie, 

Where thou hast been? 

The veil! the veil! so thin, so strong 

'Twixt us and thee ; 
The mystic veil, when shall it fall, 

That we may see? 

Not dead, not sleeping, not even gone, 

But present still, 
And waiting for the coming hour 

Of God's sweet will. 

Lord of the living and the dead, 

Our Savior dear ! 
We lay in silence at thy feet 

This sad, sad year. 

Harriet Beeciier Stowe. 



AFTER THE BALL. 



p|l|HEY sat and combed their beautiful hair, 
&ffm Their long bright tresses, one by one, 
» As they laughed and talked in the chamber there, 
4 After the revel was done. 

Idly they talked of waltz and quadrille ■ 

Idly they laughed, like other girls, 
Who, over the fire, when all is still, 

Comb out their braids and curls. 

Robes of satin and Brussels lace, 

Knots of flowers and ribbons too; 
Scattered about in every place, 

For the revel is through. 

And Maud and Madge in robes of white, 

The prettiest nightgowns under the sun, 
Stockingless, slipperless, sit in the night, 
For the revel is done; 

Sit and comb their beautiful hair, 

Those wonderful waves of brown and gold, 
Till the tire is out in the chamber there. 

And the little bare feet are cold. 

Then out of the gathering winter chill, 
All out of the bitter Saint Agnes weather, 



While the fire is out and the house is still, 
Maud and Madge together, — 

Maud and Madge in robes of white, 

The prettiest nightgowns under the sun, 
Curtained away from the chilly night, 
After the revel is done, - 

Float along in a splendid dream, 

To a golden gittern's tinkling tune, 
While a thousand lustres shimmering stream, 
In a palace's grand saloon. 

Flashing of jewels and flutter of laces, 

Tropical odors sweeter than musk, 
Men and women with beautiful faces 
And eyes of tropical dusk, 

And one face shining out like a star, 

One face haunting the dreams of each, 
And one voice sweeter than others are, 
Breaking in silvery speech. 

Telling, through lips of bearded bloom, 

An old, old story over again, 
As down the royal bannered room, 

To the golden gittern's strain. 



GRIEF .VXD PATHOS. 



40a 



Two and two, they dreamily walk. 

While an unseen Bpirit walk- beside, 
And, all unheard in the lovers 1 talk, 

He claimeth one for a bride. 

O Maud and liadge! dream on together, 

With never a pang "l jealous tear: 
For, ere the bitter Saint Agnes w eal ber 
Shall whiten another year, 

Robed for the bridal, and robed for the tomb, 

Braided brown hair, and golden In--. 
There '11 be only one of you left for the bloom 
Of the bearded lip- to press; 



Onlj ■ for the bridal pearls, 

The robe ol satin and Brussels lace — 
Only one to blu-h through her curls 

At the Sight of u lover"- fare. 

O beautiful Madge, in your bridal white. 

For you the revel has jus) begun; 
But for her who Bleeps in your arm- to-nighl 
The revel of lit'- i- done] 

But robed and erowned with your -aintl\ bliss, 

Queen ol beaven and bride ol the sun, 
O beautiful Man. I. you 'll never miss 

The kisses another hath won! 

Nora Perry. 



THE nOUR OF DEATH, 



EAVES have their time to fall, 
And flowers to wither at the north-wind's 
breath. 

And Btara to set, — bul all. 

Thou hast all season- for thine own. Death! 

Day is for mortal can': 
Eve, for glad meetings round the joyous hearth; 

Night, for tin' dream- of sleep, the voice of prayer: 
But all for thee, thou mightiest of the earth. 

The banquet bath it- hour- 
Its feverish hour— of mirth and BOng ami wine; 

There comes a day for grief's o'erwhelmlng power. 
A time for BOfter tears. — hut all are thine. 

Youth and the opening rose 
May look like things i"" glorious for decay, 

And smile at thee, -but thou art not of thOBB 
That wait the ripened bloom to seize their prey. 

Leaves have their time to fall. 
And flowers to wither at the north-wind'- breath, 

And stars to set,— but all. 
Thou hast all seasons for thine own. O Death! 



We know when moons -ball wane, 
When summer bird- from far -ball cross the sea, 

When autumn'- hue -ball tinge the golden grain— 
Rut win. -ball teach u- when to look for thee? 

1- it when spring's first gale 

Comes forth to whisper when' the violets lie? 

1- it when roses In our path- grow pale? 
They baveone season— all are ours to die! 

Thou art w ben- bUloWE foam : 
Thou art where uiu-ie melt- upon the air: 

Tl art around us in our peaceful borne; 

And the world Calls u- forth— and thou art there. 

Thou art where friend meet- friend. 
Beneath the Bhadow of the elm to rest; 

Thou art where foe meets foe, and trumpet- rend 

Tie- skies, and -word- beat down the princel) crest 
I. ease- have their time to fall. 

And flowers t" wither at the north-wind'- breath. 
Ami -tar- u< Bet,— bill all. 

Thou bast all seasons for thii wn, Death ! 

ii in t \ Dorothea Hi u i^is. 



TTTE DEATH-BED. 



FpE watched her breathing through the night, 

S? Her breathing soft and low. 
As in her breast the wave of life 
Kept heaving to and fro. 

So silently we seemed to speak. 

So slowly moved about. 
As we had lent ber half our powers 

To eke her living out. 



our very hopes belied our fear-. 

Our fears our hopes belied. — 
We thought her dying when she slept. 

And sleeping when she died. 

For when the morn came, dim and sad. 

And chill with early showers. 
Her quiet eyelids closed. — she had 

Another morn than ours. 

Thomas Hood. 



404 



THE HOYAL GALLEKY. 



SAD IS OUR YOUTH, FOR IT IS EVER, GOING-. 



¥S|AD is our youth, for it is ever going, 
f*§H Crumbling away beneath our very feet; 
Sad is our life, for onward it is flowing 
In current unperceived, because so fleet; 
Sad are our hopes, for they were sweet in 
sowing, — 
But tares, self-sown, have overtopped the wheat; 
Sad are our joys, for they were sweet in blowing, — 



And still, O, still their dying breath is sweet; 
And sweet is youth, although it hath bereft us 
Of that which made our childhood sweeter still; 
And sweet is middle life, for it hath left us 
A nearer good to cure an older ill; 
And sweet are all things when we learn to prize them, 
Not for their sake, but His who grants them or denies 
them ! 

Aubkey De Verb. 



THE BLIND BOY. 



: |JHfeEAE MARY," said the poor blind boy, 
§«|P " That little bird sings very long; 
* !§■* Say, do you see him in his joy, 
5 And is he pretty as the song? " 

"Yes, Edward, yes," replied the maid; 

" I see the bird on yonder tree." 
The poor boy sighed, and gently said — 

" Sister, I wish that I could see. 

" The flowers, you say, are very fair, 
And bright green leaves are on the trees, 

And pretty birds are singing there — 
How beautiful for one who sees ! 

" Yet I the fragrant flowers can smell; 

And I can feel the green leaf 's shade ; 
And I can hear the notes that swell 

From those sweet birds that God has made. 

" So, sister, God to me is kind, 

Though sight, alas ! He has not given ; — 
But tell me, are there any blind 

Among the children up iu heaven! " 



" No, dearest Edward, there all see; 

But why ask me a thing so odd! " — 
" Mary! He 's so good to me, 

I thought I'd like to look at God." 

Ere long, Disease his hand had laid 
On that dear boy, so meek and mild : 

His widowed mother wept and prayed 
That God would spare her sightless child. 

He felt her warm tears on his face, 
, And said — •' Oh ! never weep for me ; 
I 'm going to a better place, 
Where God my Savior I shall see. 

" And you '11 be there, dear Mary, too; 

But, mother, when you get up there, 
Tell me, dear mother, that 'tis you — 

You know I never saw you here." 

He spoke no more, but sweetly smiled, 

Until the final blow was given. 
When God took up that poor blind child, 

And opened first his eyes in heaven. 



~Q^^^- 



IN THE SEA. 



p3E salt wind blows upon my cheek, 

As it blew a year ago, 
When twenty boats were crushed among 

The rocks of Norman's woe; 
T was dark then ; 'tis light now, 

And the sails are leaning low. 

In dreams I pull the sea-weed o'er, 

And find a faee not his, 
And hope another tide will be 

More pitying than this; 
The wind turns, the tide turns, — 

They take what hope there is. 



My life goes on as life must go, 

With all its sweetness spilled ; 

My God, why should one heart of two 
Beat on. when one is stilled? 

Through heart-wreck, or home-wreck, 
Thy happy sparrows build. 

Though boats go down, men build again 
Whatever wind may blow; 

If blight be in the wheat one year, 
They trust again and sow : 

The grief comes, the change comes, 
The tides run high and low. 



GKIEF AND PATHOS. 



405 



Some have their dead, where, sweet and calm, 
The Bummers bloom and go; — 

The -ea withholds my dead; I walk 

The bar w ben tides are low, 

And wonder how the grave-grass 

Can bave the heart to grow. 



Flow on, o unconsentiog sea, 
And keep in.\ dead below; 

The night-watch sel for me i- long, 
But, through it all. I know. 

Or lii- 'win,--, or death comes, 
God leads the eternal flow. 



IllKAM RlCII. 



JAMES MELVILLE'S CHILD. 



pJE time my -.Hi was pierced a- with a sword, 
< lontending -till with men untaught and wild. 
When lie who i" Hi'- prophet lent bis gourd 

<<ave me the solace of a plea-ant child. 

A rammer gift, my precious flower was given, 

A very summer fragrance 'was it- life; 
It- clear eyes soothed me a- tin- id i heaven, 

When borne 1 turned, a weary man of -nit'-. 

■\Yirli unformed laughter, musically Bweet, 
How Boon the wakening babe would meet my ki-<: 

With outstretched arms Its care-wroughl father gn et! 
(). in the desert, what a spring was this! 

A few short months it bloss d near mj heart : 

A leu Short nth-, else toilsome all. and -ad; 

Bui thai home-solace nerved me for my part, 
And ot the babe I was exi e< ding gl id. 

Ala-! my pretty hud. scarce for d, was d 

(The prophet's gourd, it w ithercd in a it 
And in- who gi ve me all. my heart's pulse Uying, 

Took gently home the child of my delight 
Not rudely culled, nol suddenly it perished, 

But gradual tad.-. I from our love away: 
A- If, -tin. secret dews, Its lit.- that cherished, 

Were drop by drop withheld, and day by day. 
My blessed Master - ived me from repining, 

So tenderly He sued me tor His own; 
Bo beautiful II,- mad.- my babe's declining, 

Ik dying blessed me a- Its birth had d 

And daily t.. my board at n and even 

Our fading flower I had,- hi- mother bring, 
That w,- might commni r our rest in Heaven, 

Gazing the while on death, without its -tin^-. 
And of the ransom for that baby paid 

So very sweet at time- our converse seemed, 

That the sure truth of grief a gladness made: 
Our little lamb by God's own Lamb redeemed! 

There were two milk-white doves my wife had uour 
ished : 

And I, too, loved, erewhile, at times to stand 
Marking how each the other fondly cherished. 

And fed them from my baby's dimpled hand! 
So tame they grew, that to his cradle flying, 

Full oft they cooed him to his noontide rest: 



And to the murmurs of bis sleep replying, 
I rept gently in. and nestled in hi- breast 

Twas a fair Bight : the Bnow-pale infant sleeping, 
>,, fondly guardianed by those creatures mild. 

Watch o'er hi- closed eyes their bright eyes keeping; 
Wondrous the love betwixt the birds and child! 

Still a- h.- sickened seemed the doves t Iwining, 

nd 1" allied their prettj play; 
And ,.ii the day he died, with sad note pining, 
One gentle bird would not be frayed away. 




dimpled hand." 



His mother found it, when she rose, sad hearted, 

At early dawn, w ith sense of Hearing ill; 
And when at last, the little spirit parted. 

The dove died too, as it of it- heart-chill. 
The other Hew to meet my sad home-riding, 

As with a human sorrow in its coo; 
To my .had child and its dead mate then guiding, 

Mosl pitiful!} plained— and parted too. 
'T was my first hansel and propine to Heaven; 

And as I laid my darling "neath the sod. 
Precious His comforts — once an infant given. 

And offered with two turtle-doves to God! 

Mus. A. Stlart Menteath. 



406 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



TO MART IN HEAVEN. 



IOU lingering star, with lessening ray, 

That lov'st to greet the early morn, 
Again thou usher'st in the day 

My Mary from my soul was torn. 
O Mary ! dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy place of blissful rest? 
See'st thou thy lover lowly laid? 

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? 

That sacred hour can I forget, — 

Can I forget the hallowed grove, 
Where by the winding Ayr we met 

To live one day of parting love? 
Eternity will not efface 

Those records dear of transports past; 
Thy image at our last embrace ; 

Ah! little thought we 'twas our last! 



Ayr, gurgling, kissed his pebbled shore, 

O'erhung with wild woods, thickening green;. 
The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, 

Twined amorous round the raptured scene ; 
The flowers sprang wanton to be prest, 

The birds sang love on every spray, — 
Till soon, too soon, the glowing west 

Proclaimed the speed of winged day. 

Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes, 

And fondly broods with miser care ! 
Time but the impression stronger makes, 

As streams their channels deeper wear. 
My Mary ! dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy place of blissful rest? 
See'st thou thy lover lowly laid? 

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? 
Robert Bukns. 



'--W2^2/J^ 



ANNABEL LEE. 



WT was many and many a year ago, 

H In a kingdom by the sea, 

t That a maiden lived whom you may know 

I By the name of Annabel Lee ; 

And this maiden 3he lived with no other 
thought 
Than to love, and be loved by me. 

I was a child and she was a child, 

In this kingdom by the sea ; 
But we loved with a love that was more than love, 

1 and my Annabel Lee, — 
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven 

Coveted her and me. 



And this was the reason that long ago, 

In this kingdom by the sea, 
A wind blew out of cloud-land, chilling 

My beautiful Annabel Lee ; 
So that her high-born kinsman came 

And bore her away from me, 
To shut her up in a sepulchre, 

In this kingdom by the sea. 



The angels, not so happy in heaven, 

Went envying her and me. 
Yes ! that was the reason (as all men know) 

In this kingdom by the sea, 
That the wind came out of the cloud by night, 

Chilling aud killing my Annabel Lee. 

But our love it was stronger by far than the love 

Of those who were older than we, 

Of many far wiser than we ; 
And neither the angels in heaven above, 

Nor the demons down under the sea, 
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul 

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee. 



For the moon never beams without bringing me 
dreams 

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee, 
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes 

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee. 
And so, all the night-tide I lie down by the side 
Of my darling, my darling, my life, and my bride, 

In her sepulchre there by the sea, 

In her tomb by the sounding sea. 

Edgar Allan Poe. 



WE ARE SEVEN. 



SIMPLE child, 
That lightly draws its breath, 
And feels its life in every limb, 
What should she know of death? 



I met a little cottage girl : 
She was eight years old she said; 
Her hair was thick with many a curl 
That clustered round her head. 



GRIEF AND PATHOS. 



407 



She had a rustic woodland air. 
And she was « ildly clad : 
Her eyes were fair, and very fair; — 
Her beauty made me glad. 

"Sisters and brothers, little maid. 
How many may you be?" 

"How maiiv .- Seven in all," Bhe Baid, 
And wondering Looked al me. 

"Aud where are thej ? I praj you tell." 
She answered, "Seven are we: 

And two .,i ii- :u ( onwaj dwell, 
Aud two are goue to sea. 

"Two of ii- in the churchyard lie, 
M\ Bister and mj brother; 
Aud in the chm'chyard cottage, I 
Dwell near them with nij mother." 

'•Ton Bay thai two al « ionway dwell, 
Aud two are gone I" ~<a. 
Yet ye are Beveul I pray you tell, 
Bweel maid how this ma] be." 

Then did the little maid reply, 

"Seven boys ami girls an' we; 

Two of us in the churchyard lie. 
Beneath the churchyard tree." 

"You run about my little maid, 
Your limbs they arc alive; 

If two are in the churchyard laid. 

Then ye are onlj Ave." 

'•Their graves air green, they may be seen,' 1 
The little maid replied, 

"Twelve steps or more from my mother's door 
Aud they are side bj Bide. 



"My Btockings there I often knit, 
My kerchief there 1 hem; 

And there upon the ground 1 -it, 
I Bit and sing to them. 

"Aud often alter -un-et. sir, 
When it i- light and lair. 
1 take mj little porringer, 
in) Btippei there. 

"The flrsl that died was little Jane; 

In bed -he moaning lay, 

Till God released her of ber pain ; 

Ami then -he went awa> . 

"So iii the churchyard Bhe was laid; 

And. when tie- grass Was dr\ . 

Together round her grave we played. 
My brother John and l. 

••And win 'it the ground was white with snow v 

And I could run and slide, 

My brother John was forced to go, 

And in- lie- bj her Bide.' 1 

"HOW many are you, then." -aid I. 

'•If thej two arc in heaven?" 
The little maiden did reply. 
•-D master! we are seven." 

"Bui tiny are dead; those two are dead? 

Their spirits ale in h.a\cn !"' 

'T wa- throwing words awaj ; for -nil 
The little maid would have lei w ill. 
And -aid. "Nay, we are seven !" 

William Woudswortii, 



j)iK(;i:. 



</ 



(•in y: 
I She i- lying 
With her lip- apart. 

Softly! 
sin' i< dying 
Of a broken heart 

Whisper] 

She i< going 
To her final rest. 



Whisper! 
Life i- grow ing 
Dim w Ithin lei- breast. 

Gentlj : 

she i- Bleeping; 

Sin- ha- breathed her last. 
Gently! 
While you are weeping, 
She to heaven ha- passed. 

Charles Gamage Eastman. 



are what the past has made us. The results of the past are ourselves. The 
4i perishable emotions, and the momentary acts of bygone years, are the scaffolding 
on which wo built up the being that we are. 



408 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



THREE KISSES. 



HAVE three kisses in my life, 
So sweet and sacred unto me, 

That now, till death-dews on them rest, 
My lips shall ever kissless be. 

One kiss was given in childhood's hour, 
By one who never gave another; 

Through life and death I still shall feel 
That last kiss of my mother. 

The next kiss burned my lips for years; 
Tor years my wild heart reeled in bliss, 



-^vm^^zwi 



At every memory of that hour 
When my lips felt young love's first kiss. 

The last kiss of the sacred three, 
Had all the woe which e'er can move 

The heart of woman ; it was pressed 
Upon the dead lips of my love. 

When lips have felt the dying kiss, 
And felt the kiss of burning love, 

And kissed the dead, then nevermore 
In kissing should they think to move. 

Hattie Tyng Griswolb. 



THE BRAVE AT HOME. 



SHE maid who binds her warrior's sash, 

| With smile that well her pain dissembles, 

k The while beneath her drooping lash 

One starry tear-drop hangs and trembles, 



Doomed nightly in her dreams to hear 
The bolts of death around him rattle, 

Hath shed as sacred blood as e'er 
Was poured upon the field of battle! 




" The wife who girds her husband's sword, 
'Mid little ones who weep or wonder." 



Though Heaven alone records the tear, 
And fame shall never know her story, 

Her heart has shed a drop as dear 
As e'er bedewed the field of glory! 

The wife who girds her husband's sword, 
'Mid little ones who weep or wonder, 

And bravely speaks the cheering word. 
What though her heart be rent asunder, 



The mother who conceals her grief, 

While to her breast her son s 
Then breathes a few brave words and brief, 

Kissing the patriot brow she blesses, 
With no one but her secret God 

To know the pain that weighs upon her, 
Sheds holy blood, as e'er the sod 

Received on Freedom's field of honor! 

Thomas Buchanan Read. 



GRIEF A>»"D PATHOS. 



409 



AULD ROBIN GRAY. 



•jES^IIEN the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye's 
5R*i come hanie, 

I53CTS. -^"d :l •'"' weary world to rest are gane, 
*T* The waes o' m} heart fall in showers tree 
my ee, 
Unkempt by nfygudeman, wha Bleeps sound 
bj me. 

Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and Bought me for bis 

bride, 
But saving a crown be had uaithingelse beside: 
To mak 1 the crown a pound, my Jamie gaed to Bea, 
And the crow n and the pound they were baith for me. 

He had nae been gane a twain tb and a day, 

When my faither brak hi- arm. and the cow was 

stow ii awa\ : 

My mither ghe fell Bick, and mj Jamie was at Bea, 
And anld Robin Gray cam' a courting me. 

My faither could na work, my mither could ua Bpln, 
I toiled day and night, but their bread I could on win; 
Anld Boh maintained them baith, an wi" tears in 

his ee, 
Said, " Jeanie, for their Bakes, « ill ye nae marn P" 



My heart it -aid nay. and I looked i"! Jamii back. 
But the w ind it blew hard, and the -hip w a- a W rack — 

The Bhip « as a « rack. w by did na Jamie deer 
Or why was 1 spared to crj . w ae's me ! 

My faither urged me -air. m\ mither did na -peak. 
But she looked in my face till my heart was like to 

break : 
They gi'ed him my hand, though my heart was in tho 

Bea, 
And so Bobin Gray be was gudeman to mel 

I had na been a wife a week but only four, 
When mournful as 1 sat on the staue at my door, 
1 -aw my Jamie"- wraith, for I could ua think it he, 
Till he -aid ■■ I'm come bame, love, i" marry thee." 

Sair, -air did we gii et, and mickle did we say,— 

We t< ■> >k but ae ki--. and tare OUrsels away: 

1 wish I were dead, but 1 am ua lik' to dee, 
oil. why was 1 born • nae! 

[gang like a gaist, but I care na much to -pin; 

I dare na think OU Jamii-. for that wad be a -in; 

So I w id do my best a gude w Ife to be, 
For anld Robin Gray he i- kin 1 to me. 

LAW Asm Babnabd. 



my n>vi-: is di: ad. 



•la\ 



w\ SFXO until my round 

m% O drop the briny tear with me! 

T Dance mi more at holidaj : 
Like a running river be. 
M\ love i- dead. 

Gone to his death-bed, 

All under the willow tree. 
Black bis hair a- the -uininer night, 

\\liiic his neck a- the winter -now. 
Buddy hi< face a- the morning light ; 

Cold he lies iu the grave below. 

My love is dead, etc. 

Sweet his tongue as the throstle's note; 

Quick ill dance as thought can be; 
Deft his tabor, cudgel -tout : 

O. he lies by the willow tree. 
My love i- dead. etc. 

Hark ! the raven flaps his wing 

In the briered dell below; 
Hark the death-owl loud doth sing 

To the nightmares as they go. 
My love is dead, etc. 

See! the white moon shines on high; 
Whiter is my true-love's shroud, 



Whiter than the morning -ky. 
Whiter than the evening cloud. 

M\ loVO i- dead. etc. 

Here u| my true-love's grave 

Shall tin- ban-en flowers be laid 
Nor one holy -aim to save 

All the coldness Of a maid. 
My love i- dead, etc 

"With my hand- I '11 bind the briers 

Round his holy corse to gre; 
Ouphanl fairy, light your tin-; 

||e,e i,,\ bodj Still -ball be 
M\ love i- dead. etc. 

Come with acorn-cup and thorn, 

Drain my heart"- blood away; 
Lite and all it- good I -com. 

Dance by night, or feast by day. 

M\ love is dead. ele. 

Water-witches, crowned with reytes, 

Hear me to your lethal tide. 
I die! [come! my true-love waits. 

Thus tb,- damsel -pake, and died. 

Thomas Chatterton. 



410 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



OLD TIMES. 



[WAS thirty years ago, and now 

We meet once more," I sighed and said, 
" To talk of Eton and old times; 
But every second word is ' Dead! ' " 

We fill the glass, and watch the wine 
Rise, as thermometers will do, 

Then rouse the fire into a blaze, 
And once more, boys, we share the glow. 

" Do you remember Hawtrey's time? 
Pod Major, and the way he read? 



And Powis and Old Stokes? Alas! 
Our every second word is ' Dead ! ' " 

Well, springs must have their autumns too, 
And suns must set as they must shine ; 

And, waiter, here, a bottle more, 
And let it be your oldest wine. 

And gather closer to the fire, 
And let the gas flare overhead ; 

Some day our children will meet thus, 
And they will praise or blame the Dead. 



OLD. 



the wayside, on a mossy stone, 
Sat a hoary pilgrim, sadly musing; 
Oft I marked him sitting there alone, 
All the landscape, like a page, perusing 
Poor, unknown, 
By the wayside, on a mossy stone. 




" When the stranger seemed to mark our play, 
Some of us were joyous, some sad-hearted " 

Buckled knee and shoe, and broad-brimmed hat; 

Coat as ancient as the form 't was folding; 
Silver buttons, queue, and crimped cravat; 

Oaken staff his feeble hand upholding : 
There he sat! 
Buckled knee and shoe, and broad-brimmed hat. 



Seemed it pitiful he should sit there, 
No one sympathizing, no oue heeding, 

None to love him for his thin gray hair, 
And the furrows all so mutely pleading 
Age and care : 

Seemed it pitiful he should sit there. 

It was summer, and we went to school, 
Dapper country lads and little maidens ; 

Taught the motto of the " Dunce's stool," — 

Its grave import still my fancy ladens, — 

"Here 's a fool!" 

It was summer, and we went to school. 

When the stranger seemed to mark our play, 
Some of us were joyous, some sad-hearted, 

I remember well, too well, that day ! 
Oftentimes the tears unbidden started 
Would not stay 

When the stranger seemed to mark our play. 

One sweet spirit broke the silent spell, 
Oh. to me her name was always Heaven! 

She besought him all his grief to tell, 
(I was then thirteen, and she eleven,) 
Isabel! 

One sweet spirit broke the silent spell. 

" Angel." said he sadly, " I am old; 

Earthly hope no longer hath a morrow; 
Yet, why I sit here thou shalt be told." 

Then his eye betrayed a pearl of sorrow, 
Down it rolled ! 
'•Angel," said he sadly, "I am old." 

"I have tottered here to look once more 
On the pleasant scene where I delighted 

In the careless, happy days of yore, 
Ere the garden of my heart was blighted 
To the core : 

I have tottered here to look once more. 



GRIEF AND PATHOS. 



411 



* 4 All the picture now to me how dear! 

E'en this gray old rock where I am seated 
Is a jewel worth my journey here; 

Ah. thai Buch a Bcene must be completed 
Willi a tear! 
All the picture uow to me how dear! 

"Old stone Bchool-house! — it i- still the same ; 

There '- the very Btep I so ofl i in ted; 

There 'a the « Indou creaking In ii- frame, 

Ami the notches thai 1 cut and counted 

For the ga 

Old .-tone Bchool-house, it i- still the same. 



"There the rude, three-cornered chestnut-rails, 
Bound the pasture where the flocks were grazing, 

Where, so slj . I used to watch for quails 
In the crops of buckwheat we were raising; 
Trail- and trails! 

There the mde. three-cornered chestnut-rails. 

"There's the mill thai ground our yellow grain: 
Pond and river still serenely flowing : 

Col there nestling in the shaded lane. 
Where the lily of my heart was blowing. 

Mary .lane! 

There > fi the mill thai ground our yellow grain. 




••In the cottage yonder I was born; 

Long my happy home, thai humble dwelling 
Then' the held- of clover, wheal and corn; 

There the spring will, limpid nectar swelling 
Ah. forlorn! 
In the cottage yonder l was born. 
"Those two gateway Byca res you see 

Then were planted jus! so far asunder 
That long well-pole from the path to free 

And ilu- wagon t.. pass safely under; 
Ninety-three 1 
Those two gateway sycamores yon see. 
"There »s the orchard where we used to climb 

When my mates and I were boys together, 
Thinking nothing of the flighl of time, 

Fearing naught bul work and rainy weather: 
Past Its prime! 
There '- the orchard where we u<od to climb. 



•• There 's the gate on which I used to swing, 

Brook, and bridge, and barn, and old red stable: 
Bul alas! no more the morn shall bring 

Thai deal- group around mj father's table; 
Taken w ing .' 
There 's the gate on w hich I used to »w ing. 
I am fleeing, — all I loved have fled. 

Yon green meadow was our place for playing; 
Thai old ir 'an tell of sweel things said 

When around it Jane ami I were straying; 
She i- dead ! 
J am fleeing, — all 1 loved have fled. 
•• Yon white spire, a pencil on the sky, 

Tracing silently life's changeful story. 
So familiar to my dim old eye, 

Points me to seven that are now in glory 
Then- ,,n high! 
Yon white spire, a pencil on the sky. 



412 



THE KOYAL GALLERY. 



Oft the aisle of that old church we trod, 
Guided thither hy an angel mother ; 

Now she sleeps beneath its sacred sod ; 
Sire and sisters, and my little brother, 
Gone to God ! 

Oft the aisle of that old church we trod. 

"There I heard of Wisdom's pleasant ways; 

Bless the holy lesson! —but, ah, never 
Shall I hear again those songs of praise, 

Those sweet voices silent now forever! 

Peaceful days ! 

There I heard of Wisdom's pleasant ways. 

" There my Mary blest me with her hand 
When our souls drank in the nuptial blessing 

Ere she hastened to the spirit-land, 
Yonder turf her gentle bosom pressing ; 
Broken band ! 

There my Mary blest me with her hand. 

" I have come to see that grave once more, 
And the sacred place where we delighted, 

Where we worshiped, in the days of fore, 
Ere the garden of my heart was blighted 
To the core! 

I have come to see that grave once more. 

" Angel," said he sadly, " I am old; 

Earthly hope no longer hath a morrow, 
Now, why I sit here thou hast been told." 

In his eye another pearl of sorrow, 
Down it rolled ! 
" Angel," said he sadly, " I am old." 



By the wayside on a mossy stone, 
Sat the hoary pilgrim, sadly musing; 




" Brook, and bridge, and barn, and old red stable." 

Still I marked him sitting there alone, 
All the landscape, like a page, perusing; 
Poor, unknown! 
By the wayside, on a mossy stoue. 

Ralph Hoyt. 



MT MOTHER'S BIBLE. 



|HIS book is all that 's left me now, — 
I Tears will unbidden start. — 
v With faltering lip and throbbing brow 
I press it to my heart. 
For many generations past 

Here is our family tree ; 
My mother's hands this Bible clasped, 
She, dying, gave it me. 

Ah ! well do I remember those 

Whose names these records bear; 
Who round the hearthstone used to close, 

After the evening prayer, 
And speak of what these pages said 

In tones my heart would thrill ! 
Though they are with the silent dead, 

Kere are they living still ! 



My father read this holy book 

To brothers, sisters, dear; 
How calm was my poor mother's look. 

Who loved God's word to hear! 
Her angel face, — I see it yet"! 

What thronging memories come ! 
Again that little group is met 

Within the halls of home ! 

Thou truest friend man ever knew, 

Thy constancy I 've tried ; 
When all ,vere false, I found thee true, 

My counselor and guide. 
The mines of earth no treasures give 

That could this volume buy; 
In teaching me the way to live, 

It taught me how to die ! 

George P. Morris. 



GRIEF AND PATHOS. 

BINGEN ON TILE RHINE. 



413 



S< Ml • 1 1-: I i of tin- Legion lay dying in Algiers, Al "' '• :1 conarade seek her love, T a-k her in my name 

There was lack oi woman's nursing, there was '•'•• listen to him kindly, without regret or shame, 

dearth of woman's tears; And to hang the old sword in it- place (mj father's 

But a comrade si I beside him, while his life- Bword and mine 

| hi I ebbed away, For 1 1 j • - bonor ol old Bingen, — dear Bingen on the 

And beat, with pitying glances, to hear what Rhine, 

be might say. 

The dying soldier faltered, as he took that comrade's "There's another,— not a sister; in the happj days 

band, gone by 

And he said, "I nevermore shall see my own, nryna- You'd have known her by the merriment that 

live laud; sparkled in hereye; 

Take a message, and a token, to some distant friends Too innocent (or coquetry,— too fond for idle scora- 

of mine, iu--, — 

Fori was born at Bingen,- at Bingen on the Khine. friend! [fear the lightest heart makes sometimes 

hea> iesl mourning! 

"Tell my brothers and companions, when they meet Tell her the last night of mj life (for, ere the moon 

and crowd ar id. |„- risen, 

Tobearmj nful story, in the pleasant vineyard Mj body will beoutof pain, mj bou! beoutoi pris- 



ground, 



on),— 



That we fought the battle bravely, and when the day [dreamed Is Iwiih her, and saw the yellow sun- 



done, 

Full many a corse la\ ghastly pale beneath the setting 

Bun; 
And. mid the dead and dying, were some grown old 

in wars. — 

The death-wound on their gallant breasts, the last of 

many scars; 
And some were youug, and suddenly beheld life's 

morn decline. — 
And one hail come 1 1' 'in Bingen, lair Bingen on the 

Khine. 



"Tell my mother that her other son shall comfort her 

old age, 
For i was -till a truant bird, that thought his home a 

For my father was a soldier, and ( van as a child 

My heart leaped forth to heai- him tell oi struggles 

fierce and wild; 
And when he died, and left US to divide his scanty 

hoard, 
I let them take whate'er they w luld,— but kept my 

father- sword; 
And with boyish love I hung it where the bright light 

used to shine, 
On the cottage wall at Bingen,— calm Biugeu on the 

Rhine. 

"Tell my sister not to weep for me. and sob with 
drooping head. 

When the troops come marching home again with glad 
and gallant tread 

But to look upon them proudly, with a calm and stead- 
fast eye. 

For her brother was a soldier, too, and nut afraid to 
die: 



light shine 
On the vine-, lad bills of Bingen,— fair Bingen on the 

Khine. 

'•I -au the blue Rhine sweep along, l beard, or 

seemed to bear, 
The German songs we used to sing, in chorus sweet 

and clear; 
And dov, in er, and up the slanting bill, 

Tie- echoing chorus sounded, through the i 

calm and -t ill : 
And her glad blue eyes were on me, as we i 

w ith Friendly talk. 

(•own many a path beloved Of yore, and well-remem- 

walk! 
And her little hand lay lightly, confidingly in mine. — 
But we 'II meet no more at Bingen,— loved Bingi 
the Rhine." 

Bis trembling voice grew faint and hearse.— his grasp 

was childish weak, — 
His eyes put on a dying look. — he sighed and ceased 

to speak; 
His eon, lad, bent to lift him, but the -park of life had 

fled,— 
The soldier of the Legion in a foreign land i- dead ! 
And the sofl moon rose up slowly,aud calmly she 

looked dov n 
On the r.d -and of the battle-field, with bl ly corses 

strewn; 
Yes, calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light 

d to shine, 
As it shone on distant Bingen, — fair Bingen oa the 

Rhine. 

Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Nokton. 



414 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



THE LAST OF SEVEN. 



BMeAY, be not angry, chicle her not, 
HI Although the child hast erred, 
fjp Nor bring the tears into her eyes 
J4. By one ungentle word. 




" But now in grief she walks alone 
By every garden bed." 

When that sweet linnet sang, before 

Our summer roses died, 
A sister's arm was round her neck, 

A brother at her side. 

But now in grief she walks alone, 

By every garden bed, 
That sister's clasping arm is cold, 

That brother's voice is lied. 



And when she sits beside my chair, 

With face so pale and meek, 
And eyes bent o'er her book, I see 

The tear upon her cheek. 

Then chicle her not; but whisper now, 

"Thy trespass is forgiven," — 
How canst thou frown on that pale face? 

She is the last of seven. 

Avis Willmott. 



THE VOICELESS. 

§E count the broken lyres that rest 

Where the sweet wailing singers slumber, 
But o'er their silent sister's breast 

The wild flowers who will stoop to number? 
A few can touch the magic string, 

And noisy fame is proud to win them ; 
Alas for those that never sing, 

But die with all their music in them I 

Nay, grieve not for the dead alone, 

Whose song has told their hearts' sad story. 
Weep for the voiceless, who have known 

The cross without the crown of glo;ry! 
Not where Leucadian breezes sweep 

O'er Sappho's memory-haunted billow, 
But where the glistening night-dews weep 

On nameless sorrow's churchyard pillow. 

O hearts that break, and give no sign, 

Save whitening lip and fading tresses, 
Till Death pours out his cordial wine, 

Slow-dropped from misery's crushing presses! 
If singing hreath or echoing chord 

To every hidden pang were given. 
What endless melodies were poured, 

As sad as earth, as sweet as heaven ! 

Oliver Wendell Holmes. 



RESIGNATION. 



;HERE is no flock, however watched and tended, 
I But one dead lamb is there ! 
There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended. 
But has one vacant chair ! 



The air is full of farewells to the dying; 

And mournings for the dead ; 
The heart of Rachel, for her children crying, 

Will not be comforted ! 



Let us be patient ! These severe afflictions 

Not from the ground arise. 
But oftentimes celestial benedictions 

Assume this dark disguise. 

We see but dimly through the mists and vapors ; 

Amid these earthly damps 
What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers 

May be heaven's distant lamps. 



GRIEF AND PATHOS 



There Is no Death! What seems so is transition; 

This life of mortal breath 
1- imt a suburb of the life elj sisn, 

Wbose portal we call Death. 

She la Dot dead, — the child of our affection, — 

But gone unto that school 
Where she no longer needs our poor protection, 

And Christ himself doth rule. 

In that great cloister's stillness and seclusion, 

By guardian angels led, 
Safe from temptation, Bafe from sin's pollution, 

She lives, whom \\< j call dead. 

Day after day we lliink what -he Is doing 

Iu those bright realms <>i air; 
Tear after year, her tender steps pursuing, 

Behold her grow o more fair. 

Thus do we walk with her, and k.< •< ■ | » unbroken 
The bond which nature gives, 



Thinking that our remembrance, though unspoken, 
May reach her where she lives. 

Not as a child -hall we again behold her; 

For when with raptures wild 
In our embraces we again enfold her, 

She will not be a child; 

But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion, 

t Hotbed « iiii celestial grace; 
And beautiful with all the soul's expansion 

shall we behold her far,-. 

And though al times impetuous with emotion 

And anguish long suppressed, 
Tin- swelling bear! heaves moaning like the ocean, 

That cannot i»- at rest, — 

We will I"' patient, and assuage the feeling 

\s .• maj ii"t w bollj sta] : 
i; nee sanctify Log, not concealing, 

Hi. griel that must have waj . 

ttENBl WAD8WOBTH l.< >n<,kELLO\V. 



Tin-; bivouac of Tin; dead. 



I 



S muffled drum's sad roll baa beat 
be soldier's last tattoo; 

No mor i Lite's parade -hall meet 

That brave and fallen I'W . 

On Fame's eternal camping ground 

Their silent lent- are spread, 

And Glory guard-, with solemn round, 
The bivouac of the dead. 

No rumor of the foe's advance 

Now Bwells upon the wind: 

No troubled thought at midnight haunts 

Of loved one- left behind; 
No \i-i I the morrow's strife 

The warrior's dream alarm-: 
No braying bom or screaming life 

At dawn shall call I" arms. 

Their shivered swords are red with rust, 
Their plumed bead- are bowed; 

Their haughty banner, trailed in dust. 

Is now their martial shroud. 
And plenteous funeral tears have washed 

The red stains from each brow, 
And the proud forms, by battle gashed, 

Are free from anguish now. 

The neighing troop, the Hashing blade, 

The bugle's stirring blast. 
The charge, the dreadful cannonade, 

The din and shout, are past: 
Nor war's wild note nor glory's peal 

Shall thrill with fierce delight 
Those breasts that never more may feel 

The rapture of the fight. 



Like the fierce northern hurricane 
That sweeps bis great plateau, 

Flu-bed with the triumph yet to gain, 
< lame dow a tie- serried foe. 

Who beard the thunder ..t tin- (ray 
Bp ok o'er the field beneath, 

Knew well ill., watchword Of that day 

Was •• v"lctorj or death'.' 1 

Long has the doubtful conflict raged 

O'er all that Btricken plain. 
For never fiercer fight bad u igt d 

The vengeful blood "t Spain : 
And -till tbe Btor f battle blew, 

Mill swelled the gory tide; 
Not long, our stout old chieftain knew, 

Such odd- hi- strength could bide. 

'T was in that l r bi- stern command 

( Sailed t" a martyr'- grave 
The flower ..f hi- belovfid land, 

The nation's flag t.. save. 
By rivers of their fathers' gore 

His first-born laurels grew, 

And Well he deemed the -..u~ would pOUT 

Their lives for glory too. 

Full many a norther'- breath had swept 

O'er Angostura's plain— 
And long the pitying sky has wept 

Above the mouldering slain. 
The raven's scream, or eagle's flight, 

Or shepherd's pensive lay. 
Alone awakes each sullen height 

That frowned o'er that dread fray. 



416 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



Sons of the Dark and Bloody Ground, 

Ye must not slumber there. 
Where stranger steps and tongues resound 

Along the heedless air ; 
Your own proud land's heroic soil 

Shall be your fitter grave ; 
She claims from war his richest spoil — 

The ashes of her brave. 

So 'neath their parent turf they rest, 

Far from the gory field, 
Borne to a Spartan mother's breast, 

On many a bloody shield ; 
The sunshine of their native sky 

Smiles sadly on them here, 
And kindred eyes and hearts watch by 

The heroes' sepulchre. 



Rest on, embalmed and sainted dead, 

Dear as the blood ye gave ; 
No impious footstep here shall tread 

The herbage of your grave ; 
Nor shall your glory be forgot 

While Fame her record keeps, 
Or Honor points the hallowed spot 

Where Valor proudly sleeps. 

Yon marble minstrel's voiceless stone, 

In deathless song shall tell, 
When many a vanished age hath flown, 

The story how ye fell; 
Nor wreck, nor change, nor winter's blight, 

Nor Time's remorseless doom, 
Shall dim one ray of glory's light 

That gilds your deathless tomb. 

Theodore O'Hara. 




•'Ye must not slumber there, 

Where stranger steps and tongues resound 

Along the heedless air. " 

OUR SOLDIERS' GRAVES. 



TREW all their graves with flowers, 

They for their country died ; 
And freely gave their lives for ours, 
Their country's hope and pride. 

Briug flowers to deck each sod, 
Where rests their sacred dust; 

Though gone from earth, they live to God, 
Their everlasting trust! 

Fearless in Freedom's cause 
They suffered, toiled, and bled; 



And died obedient to her laws, 
By truth and conscience led. 

Oft as the year returns, 

She o'er their graves shall weep; 
And wreathe with flowers their funeral urns, 

Their memory dear to keep. 

Bring flowers of early spring 

To deck each soldier's grave, 
And summer's fragrant roses briug, — 

They died our land to save. 

Jones Very. 



«.i:il.i ami PATHOS. 



417 



BEREAVEMENT. 



j MARKED when vernal meads were bright, 
I And many a primrose Bmiled, 
1 I marked her, blithe aa morning light 
A dimpled three years" child. 

A basket on one tender arm 

Contained her precious store 
CM spring-flowers in their freshest charm, 

Told proudly o'er and o'er 



The summer months -wept by: again 

Thai loving pair I met. 
On russei heath, and bowerj lane, 

lir autumnal sun had sel ! 

And chill and damp thai Sund 
Breathed on the mourners' road, 

Thai bright-eyed little one !■> leave 
Safe in the Saints' ab '!■■. 




Contained hi: 



The other wound with earnest hold 
Aiioiii her blooming guide, 

A maid who scarce twelve years had told. 
So walked they side by side. 



Behind, the guardian sister came, 
Her bright brow dim and pal< — 

thee, maiden ! in His Xante, 
Who staled Jainis' wail! 



One a bright bud, and one might seem 

A si<!,> r flower half blown. 
Full joyous on their loving dream 
The sky of April shone. 



'l'le .u mourn'sl to mi— the tinkers soft, 

That held by thine so fast. 
The fowl appealing eye. full oft 

Tow 'id thee for refuge cast 



418 



THE ROYAL GALLEEY. 



Sweet toils, sweet cares, forever gone ! 

No more from stranger's face, 
Or startling sound, the timid one 

Shall hide in thine embrace. 

The first glad earthly task is o'er, 

And dreary seems thy way. 
But what if nearer than before 

She watch thee even to-day? 

What if henceforth by Heaven's decree 
She leave thee not alone, 



But in her turn prove guide to thee 
In ways to Angels known? 

O yield thee to her whisperings sweet: 

Away with thoughts of gloom ! 
In love the loving spirits greet 

Who wait to bless her tomb. 

In loving hope with her unseen, 

Walk as in hallowed air. 
When foes are strong and trials keen, 

Think. "What if she be there?" 

John Keblb. 



THREE ROSES. 



tEE roses, wan as moonlight, and weighed 
down, 

Each with its loveliness as with a crown, 
Drooped in a florist's window in a town. 



The third, a widow, with new grief made wild, 
Shut in the icy palm of her dead child. 

Thomas Bailey Aldrich. 




Shut in the icy palm of her 

The first a lover bought. It lay at rest, 

Like flower on flower that night on beauty's breast. 

The second rose, as virginal and fair, 
Shrank in the tangles of a harlot's hair. 



HIGHLAND MARY. 

E banks, and braes, and streams around 

The castle o' Montgomery, 
Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, 

Your waters never drumlie! 
There simmer first unfauld her robes, 

And there the langest tarry; 
For there I took the last farewecl 

O' my sweet Highland Mary. 

How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk, 

How rich the hawthorn's blossom, 
As underneath their fragrant shade 

I clasped her to my bosom ! 
The golden hours, on angel wings, 

Flew o'er me and my dearie; 
For dear to me as light and life 

Was my sweet Highland Mary. 

Wi' mony a vow, and locked embrace, 

Our parting was fu 1 tender; 
And, pledging aft to meet again, 

We tore oursels asunder; 
But oh! fell death's untimely frost, 

That nipt my flower sae early ! 
Now green 's the sod. and cauld "s the clay 

That wraps my Highland Mary ! 

O pale, pale now, those rosy lips 

I aft hae kissed sae fondly! 
And closed for aye the sparkling glance 

That dwelt on me sae kindly ! 
And mouldering now in silent dust 

The heart that lo'ed me dearly! 
But still within my bosom's core 

Shall live my Highland Mary. 

Robert 



GRIEF AM) PATHOS. 



410 



REQTJIESCAT. 



READ lightly, she is near, 
Under tin- -now: 
Speak gentlj . she can hear 
The daisies grow. 

All her bright golden hair 
Tarnished with rust, 

She that was young and fair 
Fallen to dust 

Lily-like, white as -now. 
She hardly knew 



She was a woman, so 
Sweetly -In- grew. 

( offin-board, beavj -tone, 

Lie "ii her breast ; 
I vex mj heart alone, 

She Is at rest 

Peace, peace; she <-annot hear 

Lj re or sonnet; 
All my life 'a buried here — 

Heap earth upon It 



Oscar. Wilde. 




'Children n 

THE BLIND MAN. 



fDT li-i thai moan! "ii- the poor Mind man's dog, 
His guide for many a day. now come to mourn 
The master and the friend — conjunction rare : 
A man. indeed, be was of gentle soul, 
Though bred to brave the deep; the lightning's flash 
Had dimmed, not closed, his mild but sightless eyes. 
He was a welcome guest through all hi- rauge 
(It was not wide) ; no dog would bay at him; 
Children would run to meet him ou his way. 



And lead him to a -unny -cat. and elimb 
Hi- knee, and wonder al his oft-told tales: 
Then would In- teach the elfins how to plait 
'l'lc- rushy cap and crow ii. or sedgyship; 
And I have -cm him lav hi- Ircmulous hand 
Upon their heads, while silent moved his lips. 
Peace to thy spirit! that now looks on me, 
Perhaps with greaterpity than I felt 
To see thee wandering darkling on thy way. 

James Gkahame. 



420 



THE KOYAL GALLEKY. 



OUT OF THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN CITY. 



j*E will go, my love, togethei' to the golden 
autumn field ; 
Ah ! mellow falls the sunshine where the 
roses blow;; 
«H, This day in wood and meadow we '11 forget 
the pale lips sealed ; 
This day to love and gladness, whate'er the morrows 
yield." 
Sweet, sweet the peaceful forest where the cool 
streams flow. 

Through the dread plague-stricken city passed the 
lovers on their way, 
Far floats the yellow banner in the morning's glow; 
Through the ranks of dead and dying, where the fever- 
smitten lay, 
Through the wailing and the horror of the fateful 
autumn day. 
Ah ! God's wrath lieth heavy where the south-winds 
blow. 

" Nay. love, why gaze you backward at the dead-cart 
in its round? 
Tolls the solemn death-bell, tolling long and slow; 
Death holds the pallid city, but we '11 cross its farthest 

bound, 
And forget for one brief hour every ghastly sight and 
sound.'' 
List! that voice that crieth, "Woe, ye people, 
woe! " 

Like children through the meadows they wandered, 
hand in hand; 
Soft the mossy hillocks where the violets grow; 
They gathered leaf and flower; but she wrote upon 

the sand, 
"Ay, strong is love, but stronger is Death's unsparing 
haud." 
Sad the under voices in the river's flow. 

"Why speak of death, beloved? to-day is surely ours; 

Each hour holds a secret which the angels know ; 
You gracious sky above us, our feet upon the flowers; 



Why vex with thoughts of dolor the peace of happy 
hours? " 
Swift the lights and shadows where the aspens 
grow. 

The ah- is thrilled with bird-notes, in the rapture of 
their singing ; 
Minor chords are sounding in the dove's plaint, soft 
and low; 
I am drunken with the gladness that Nature's grace is 

bringing, 
Be merry, then, O sweetheart; list the woodland cho- 
rus ringing." 
Far-off bells are tolliug a requiem, sad and slow.- 

She closed her heavy eyelids, laid her head upon his 
shoulder; 
Nevermore the dreaming of the happy long ago. 
"Alas! love, 'neath the flowers I see the dead leaves 

moulder. 
I am chill, so chill and weary; has the sunny day 
grown colder? " 
Autumn leaves are falling, as the west-winds come 
and go. 

Plague-stricken? Yes, O lover, for the Yellow King 
has seized her. 
Vast the realm of shadows, where no earth winds 
blow; 
Midst the bird songs and the clover and the fresh free 

air he claims her. 
Vainly, vainly from his power would thy frantic love 
withhold her. 
Weep o'er sweetest flowers, killed by winter's snow. 

He laid her 'neath the aspens, but e'er the first gray 
dawning. 
Blessed the peaceful garden where God's lilies blow, 
Her lovely eyes half opened, and without sigh or 

warning. 
Her soul beyond the shadows had sprung to meet the 
morning. 
Oh the blissful morning which His people know! 
Marie B. Williams. 



FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS. 



»HEN the hours of day are numbered, 
I Aud the voices of the night 
j Wake the better soul that slumbered 
To a holy, calm delight, 

Ere the evening lamps are lighted, 
And, like phantoms grim and tall, 

Shadows from the fitful firelight 
Dance upon the parlor wall; 



Then the forms of the departed 

Enter at the open door, — 
The beloved ones, the true-hearted, 

Come to visit me once more : 

He, the young and strong, who cherished 
Noble longings for the strife. 

By the roadside fell and perished. 
Weary with the march of life! 



GRIEF A_N"1> l'ATHO- 



421 



They, the holy <>m-< ami weakly, 
Who the cross ol Buffering bore, 

Folded their pale bauds bo meeklj , 
Spake « iili us arth no more! 

Ami with ih. in tin- being beauteous 
Win. unto mj j outh was given, 

Mmc than all things else to love me, 
And i- now a saint in heaven. 

Wiih a slow ami noiseless footstep, 
Comes thai messenger divine, 

'lake- the vacant chair beside me, 
Lays ber gentle hand in mine; 



Ami she sits ami gazes at me 
With those deep ami tender eyes, 

Like the stars, so -till ami saiut-like, 
Looking downward from the -km-. 

Uttered not, yel comprehended, 

1- iln' spirit's voiceless prayer, 
Sofl rebukes in blessings '-mini. 

Breathing from her lip- oi air. 

O, though oft depressed and Lonely, 

All my [ears an- laid aside 
li I Ian remember only 

Such a- these have lived ami died ' 

HENRI WaDSWORTII l.nMiKKLLOW. 



^3&!^- ► 



THE FATE OF POETS. 



Till': CRADLE. 



THOUGHT of < Shatterton, the marvellous boy, 
The Bleepless soul that perished in lii- pride, 

Of him who walked iu glory ami in joy 
Behind Ins plough along the mountain-side: 
By our own spirits an' h e deified ; 




"I thought 

The sleepless soul, thai perished in hi- priJe." 



We poets in our youth begin in gladness, 
But thereof come in the end despondency and 
madness. 

William Wordsworth. 



'<>W Steadfastly -lm d worked at it! 

>, How lovingly had dreat 
With all har would-be mother's wit 
That little rosy nesl ! 

How longingly -in- "d bung on it!— 

[I sometimes seemed, Bhe -aid. 
There lay beneath it- coverlet, 

A little sleeping bead. 

He came at last, tin- tJnj guest, 

Ere bleak December fled ; 
That rosj n. -t be never prest— 

Her cofBn was his bed. 

A i -rt\ DOBSON. 



INTO r nii: \v< u:u> and out 

v.. 

§rXTO the w. 
,X |'1„- ohildr 
V-.. 

Int.. the world a TOSJ hand in doubl 



orld lm looked with -wort surprise; 
•on laughed -" when they -aw hi- eyes. 



Ilr reached— n pale hand t< 



isc-hud out. 



« \nd that wa- all— quite all!" No, surely! But 
Th e children cried — when hi- eyes were shut. 
Sallil M. B. Piatt. 



THE REAPEB AXE THE FLOWERS. 



TTF.T1E is a Reaper whose name is Death, 
Ami. with his sickle keen. 
Ho reaps the bearded grain at a breath, 
And the flowers that grow between. 



'•Shall I have nought that is fair?" <aith he: 
••Have nought hut the bearded grain? 

Though the breath "f these flowers is sweet to me. 
I will give them all back again." 



He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, 
II,. kissed tBteir drooping leave-: 

It was for tie- Lord ol Paradise 
lie hound them in hi- sheaves. 

"My Lord has need of these flowerets gay, 
The Reaper said, and smiled; 

'•Hear tokens of the earth are they, 
Where lie was once a child. 



422 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



"They shall all bloom in fields of light, 

Transplanted by my care, 
And saints, upon their garments white, 

These sacred blossoms wear." 

And the mother gave, in tears and pain, 
The flowers she most did love ; 



She knew she should find them all again 
In the fields of light above. 

O, not in cruelty, not in wrath, 

The Eeaper came that day ; 
'T was an angel visited the green earth, 

And took the flowers away. 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 




' Touch me once more , my father 



LAST WORDS. 



|EFRESH me with the bright-blue violet, 

And put the pale faint-scented primrose near, 
For I am breathing yet : 
Shed not one silly tear ; 
But when mine eyes are set, 
Scatter the fresh flowers thick upon my bier, 
And let my early grave with morning dew be wet. 

I have passed swiftly o'er the pleasant earth ; 
My life hath been the shadow of a dream ; 
The joyousness of birth 
Did ever with me seem : 



My spirit had no dearth, 
But dwelt forever by a full, swift stream, 
Lapt in a golden trance of never-failing mirth. 

Touch me once more, my father, ere my hand 
Have not answer for thee ; — kiss my cheek 
Ere .the blood fix and stand 
Where flits the hectic streak ; 
Give me thy last command, 
Before I lie all undisturbed and meek. 
Wrapt in the snowy folds of funeral swathing-band. 
Henry Alfokd. 



GRIEF AND V VTHOS. 



423 



•#*%■ 



TEA] 

:ARS, idle toar=. I know not what they mean, 
Tears from the depths of some divine despair 
Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes. 
In looking on the happy Autumn-fields, 
And thinking oi the daj - thai are no more. 



IDLE TEARS. 

Ah. sad and strange as in nark summer dawns 
The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds 
To dying ear-, when unto dying eyes 
The casement Blowly grows a glimmering square; 
So Bad, SO Strange, the day- that are no more. 




" In look \ il ' n-fields, 

the days that art no more. 



"Fresh as the first beam glittering <>n a sail 
That brings our friend- up from the under world, 
Sad as the la>t which reddens over one 
That sinks with all we love below the verge; 
So sad, so fresh, the day- that are no inure. 



Dear as rememhered kisses after death, 
And sweet as those bj hopeless fancy feigned 
Onlips that are for others; deep as love, 
Deep as first love, and wild with all regret. 
Death in Life, the days that are no more. 

Alfred Tesnyson. 



IjyHO ne'er his bread in sorrow ate — 

l& "Who ne'er the mournful midnight hours 



Weeping upon his bed hath sate — 
He knows you not, ye Heavenly Powers. 



424 



THE ROTAL GALLERY. 



DEAD IN NOVEMBER 



( >W can it shine so bright, 
111*3 The garish sun 

iir&& That shines upon our dead! 
I" Veiled though the pitying stars of night, 
5 No lingering ruth this morn — not one 
Poor cloud to spread, 
With softened touch, its brief eclipse 
Upon the cold and silent lips, 
The weighted eyes, the solemn rest. 
The little hands upon the breast, 
Where he lies — dead ! 

These roistering winds that toss, 

In fierce-blown swirl, 
The frost-plucked autumn leaves, 
Rudely they sport with death and loss, 
Or, sinking, mock with sobbing purl 

The heart that grieves : 
As joyous and as free as they. 
As full of life and glee as they, 
Was he, one little week ago, 
Who lies in yonder room so low, 

My boy ! and dead ! 

The peevish crows o'erhead 

Caw on and on ; 
The winter-birds chirp clear. 
Mid pause in feast of berries red. 
Cheery and pert, though song-mates gone. 

And woods are sere ; 



Sun-kissed and glad the stream flows on — 
Oh God ! and all the world goes on 
Light-hearted still, the same as when 
He breathed it all — the same as then, 
And yet he's dead! 

To-morrow — and the end! 

The coffin -lid 
Will close, and o'er it we 
With tears and bursting hearts will bend, 
And think of all forever hid, 

My boy, with thee ! 
Thy sunny ways, thy kindling joy, 
Thy mind's quick reach, my bright-eyed boy ! 
Thy gracious promise unfulfilled, 
The high-set hopes we could but build, 

All with the dead ! 

Oh anguish vain ! There is 

No plea to move 
The tyrant heart of Death ; 
No respite, won with agonies 
E'en such as Love and Grief approve, 

With sobbing breath : 
Not all Earth's tears the hands could stay 
That dig his little grave to-day! 

Pity, O Christ! our eyes unseal 

To see, beyond our sad anele, 

He lives, though dead ! 

E. Hannafokd 



THE CHILD'S FIRST GRIEF. 



ff|j§|H ! call my brother back to mc ! 
WS& I cannot play alone ; 
«£ip The summer comes with flower and bee — 
J4 Where is my brother gone? 

"The butterfly is glancing bright 

Across the sunbeam's track; 
I care not now to chase its flight — 

Oh ! call my brother back ! 

41 The flowers run wild — the flowers we so 1 

Around our garden tree ; 
Our vino is drooping with its load — 

Oh! call him back to me! '* 

"He could not hear thy voice, fair child, 
He may not come to thec; 



The face that once like spring-time smiled, 
On earth no more thou'lt see. 

"A rose's brief bright life of joy, 

Such unto him was given ; 
Go — thou must play alone, my boy! 

Thy brother is in heaven! " 

" And has he left his birds and flowers, 

And must I call in vain; 
And, through the long, long summer hours, 

Will he not come again? 

" And by the brook, and in the glade, 

Are all our wanderings o'er? 
Oh. while my brother with me played, 

Would I had loved him more! " 

Felicia Dorothea Hemans. 



BOSOM empty of a heart of pain makes a lustreless life: 
a heart bleeds reveals hidden virtues. 



but a bosom in which 



GRIEF AND PATHOS. 



425 



ta)oo 



HANNAH BINDING >1I0ES. 



R lone Hannah, 

Sitting dt the window binding shoes. 

Faded, w rinkled, 
Sitting, stitchingina mooiiiiuJ muse, 
Bright-eyed beauty once waa she, 
When the bloom waa on the tree; 
Spring and winter 
lhiiinali 's at the window binding shoes. 

Not a neighbor 
Passing nod or answer will refuse 

To her whisper, 
"Is there from the nshers any news?" 
Oh her heart's adrifl with one 

On an endless voyage g I 

Night and morning 
Hannah 's at tin- window binding shoes. 

Fair young Hannah 
Bin. the sunburnt fisher, gaily wooes; 
Hale and clever, 

For a willing heart and hand he SUBS. 
May-day skies are all aglow, 
And the waves are laughing 90! 
l-'oi ier wedding 

Hannah leaves her window and her shoes. 

Ma> i- passing; 
Mid the apple-boughs a pigeon cooes. 

Hannah -hudders. 

For the mild southwester mischief brews. 
Round the rocks of Marblehead, 

Outward bound a schooner sped; 

Silent, lour- s, 

Hannah- at the window binding shoes. 

'1 1- November: 
Now no tear her wasted cheek bedews; 

From Newfoundland, 
Not a sail returning win she lose, 
Whispering hoarselj . •• Fishermen, 
Have you. have you In aid ,,1 Ben? " 



Old with watching, 
Hannah"- at the window binding 

Twenty w inters 
Bleach and tear the ragged shore 

Twenty -easons — 
Never one ha- brought her any 01 



•hoes, 
she views 




Still her dim eyes silently 
< base the white -ail- o'er the sea; 
Hopeless, faithful, 
Hannah'- at the window binding shoes. 

Lucy Larcom. 



THE CROSS. 



strongest light ea^ts deepest shade, 
The dearest love makes dreariest h>-s. 

And -he his birth SO blest had made 

Stood by him dying on the cross. 

Yet since not grief but joy shall last. 

The day and not the night abide. 
And all time's shadows, earthward east. 

Are lights upon the " other side: " 

Through what long bliss that -hall not fail 
The darkest hour -hall brighten on! 



Better than any angel's " Hail! " 

The memory of " Behold thy Son! " 

Blest in thy lowly heart to store 
The honiBge paid at Bethlehem; 

But far more blessed evermore. 
Thus to have -bared the taunts and shame 

Tim- with thy pierced heart to have stood 
Mid mocking crowds and owned him thine, 

True through a world's ingratitude. 
And owned in death by lips divine. 

Elizabeth (Bundle') Chakles. 



426 



THE ROYAL GALLEEST. 

THE LITTLE MOURNER. 



j whither goest thou 
Over the snowy hill? 
The frost-air Dips so keen, 
That the very clouds are still, 



Thither go I : — keen the morning 
Bites, and deep the snow; 

But, in spite of them, 
Up the frosted hill I go." 




From the golden folding curtains 
The sun hath not looked forth, 

And brown the snow-mist hangs 
Eound the mountains to the north." 

" Kind stranger, dost thou see 
Yonder church-tower rise, 

Thrusting its crown of pinnacles 
Into the looming skies? 



" Child, and what dost thou? 

When thou shalt be there? 
The chancel door is shut — 

There is no bell for prayer; 
Yestermorn and yestereven 

Met we there and prayed ; 
But now none is there 

Save the dead lowly laid." 



GRIEF AND PATHOS. 



4.-:: 



" Stranger, underneath that tower 

On the western Bide, 
A happy, happy company 

In holy peace abide; 
My father, and my mother, 

And my sisters four — 
Their beds are made in swelling turf, 

Fronting the western door." 

" Child, if thou -peak to them 
Thoy \\ ill not answer thee; 

They are deep down in earth — 
Thy face they cannot see. 



Then, w herefore art thou going 

Over the snow hill? 
Why seek thy low -laid family. 

Where they lie cold and still?" 

" Stranger, when tin- summer heats 

Would dry their turfy bed, 
Duly from this loving hand 

Wiih water ii i- ted; 
Tiny musl be cleared this morning 

From the thick-laid snow; — 
So no« along the frosted Held, 

Stranger, !«■! me u r "." 

Henri a i. ford. 



BABY BELL. 



?>— , 

TjT LvE you not heard the ports tell 
jaa„ ii, , u i:l ine the daintj Baby Bell 
Into this world ol ours? 
I Tho gates of heaven were left ajar: 
With folded hands and dreamj eyes, 
Wandering oul of Paradise, 
She saw this planet, like a star, 

Hung in the glistening depth- of even,— 

It- bridges, running to and fro, 

O'er whicb the white-winged angels go, 

Bearing the bolj dead to heaven. 
she touched a bridge of flowers,— those feet, 
So light they did not bend (he bells 
01 thecelestial asphodels, 

They fell like dew Upon the flower-. 

Then all the air grew Btrangely Bweet! 
And thus came dainty Baby Hell 
Into this world of ours. 

She came, and brOUgbl delicious May. 

The -wallow - i mi 1 1 beneath the eaves; 

Like Bunlight, in and out the leaves 
The roblus went the livelong daj ; 
The lily swung it- noiseless bell; 

And o'er the porch the trembling vine 

Seemed bursting with its veins of wine, 
How sweetly, softly, twilight fell! 
O. earth was full of singing-birds 
Atid opening spring-tide flowers, 
■When the dainty Baby Bell 

Came to this world of ours! 
O. Baby, dainty Baby Bell, 
How fair she grew from day to day! 
What woman-nature filled Iter eyes. 
What poetry within them lay! 
Those deep and tender twilight eyes, 

So full of meaning, pine and bright 

As if she yet stood in the light 
Of those oped gates of Paradise. 
And so we loved her more and more: 



Ah. never in our heart- before 

\\ a- love -o lovely horn : 
w ■ fell we bad a link between 
This real world and thai unseen — 

The land bej ond the morn. 
And for the love ol those de 
For love of lea- w hom God led forth 
( lie mother's being ceased on earth 
When Baby came from Paradise. 
For love "t Him w ho smote our lives, 

And woke tl hords Ol j"\ and pain. 

We said, "Dear I hrist!" our hearts benl down 
Like \ loletS alter rain. 

And now the orchards, which were white 
And red with blossoms when she '.one. 
Were i i-li in autumn's mellow prime; 
The clustered apple- burnt like flame, 
The Boft-cheeked peaches blushed and fell. 
The ivorj chestnut burst its shell, 
The grapes hung purpling in the grange; 
And lime wrought just a- rich a ehange 

In little Bab3 Bell. 

Her lissome form mote perfect grew, 
And in her features we could trace, 
In softened curves, her mother's face. 

Her angel-nature ripened too: 

We thought her lovely when she came, 

But -he wa- h"l\ . saintly now:— 

Around her pal.-, angelic brow 

We -aw a slender ring of tlamc! 

God's hand hail taken away the seal 
That held the portals of her speech; 

And ofi -he -aid a few strange words 
Whose meaning lay beyond our reach. 

She never was a child to us. 

We never held her being's key; 

We could not teach her holy things: 
She was Christ's self in purity. 



428 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



It came upon us by degrees, 

We saw its shadow ere it fell, — 

The knowledge that our God had sent 

His messenger for Baby Bell. 

We shuddered with unlanguaged pain, 

And all our hopes were changed to fears, 

And all our thoughts ran into tears 

Like sunshine into rain. 
We cried aloud in our belief, 
"O, smite us gently, gently, God! 
Teach us to bend aud kiss the rod, 
And perfect grow through grief." 
Ah, how we loved her, God can tell; 



Her heart was folded deep in ours, 
Our hearts are broken, Baby Bell ! 

At last he came, the messenger, 

The messenger from unseen lands ", 
And what did dainty Baby Bell? 
She only crossed her little hands, 
She only looked more meek and fair! 
We parted back her silken hair, 
We wove the roses round her brow, — 
White buds, the summer's drifted snow, — 
Wrapt her from head to foot in flowers ! 
And thus went dainty Baby Bell 
Out of this world of ours ! 

Thomas Bailey Aldkich. 



BEN BOLT. 



iiON'T you remember sweet Alice, Ben Bolt? 
W Sweet Alice, whose hair was so brown, 
^ Who wept with delight when you gave her a 
smile, 
And trembled with fear at your frown ? 
In the old churchyard in the valley, Ben Bolt, 

In a corner obscure and alone, 
They have fitted a slab of the granite so gray, 
And Alice lies under the stone. 

Under the hickory-tree, Ben Bolt, 

Which stood at the foot of the hill, 
Together we've lain in the noonday shade, 

And listened to Appleton's mill : 
The mill-wheel has fallen to pieces, Ben Bolt, 

The rafters have tumbled in, 
And a quiet which crawls round the walls as you 
gaze 

Has followed the olden din. 

Do you mind the cabin of logs, Ben Bolt, 
At the edge of the pathless woods, 

And the button-ball tree with its motley limbs, 
Which nigh by the doorstep stood? 



The cabin to ruin has gone, Ben Bolt, 

The tree you would seek in vain; 
And where once the lords of the forest waved, 

Grows grass and the golden grain. 

And don't you remember the school, Ben Bolt, 

With the master so cruel aud grim, 
And the shaded nook in the running brook, 

Where the children went to swim? 
Grass grows on the master's grave, Ben Bolt, 

The spring of the brook is dry. 
And of all the boys who were schoolmates then, 

There are only you and I. 

There is change in the things I loved, Ben Bolt, 

They have changed from the old to the new; 
But I feel in the deeps of my spirit the truth, 

There never was change in you. 
Twelve-months twenty have passed, Ben Bolt, 

Since first we were friends — yet I hail 
Thy presence a blessing, thy friendship a truth, 

Ben Bolt, of the salt-sea gale. 

Thomas Dunn English. 



■«— *-W2^22/j^-»-_5- 



DECORATION DAY AT CHARLESTON. 



;LEEP sweetly in your humble graves, — 
Sleep, martyrs of a fallen cause ! 
Though yet no marble column craves 
The pilgrim here to pause. 

In seeds of laurel in the earth 
The blossom of your fame is blown, 

And somewhere, waiting for its birth, 
The shaft is in the stone! 

Meanwhile, behalf the tardy years 
Which keep in trust your storied tombs, 



Behold ! your sisters bring their tears. 
And these memorial blooms. 

Small tributes! but your shades will smile 
More proudly on these wreaths to-day, 

Thau when some cannon-moulded pile 
Shall overlook this bay. 

Stoop, angels, hither from the skies! 

There is no holier spot of ground 
Than where defeated valor lies. 

By mourning beauty crowned ! 

Henry Timrod. 



GKIKK AXI) PATHOS. 



-[•29 




THE OUTCAST. 

I T T who arc those who make the Btreets their couch, and find a short 
repose from wretchedness at the doors of the opulent? There are 



strangers, wanderers, and orphans, whose 
humble to expect redress, and whose dif 
even for pity. 



circumstances are too 

tresses are too great 




\HSFfflZf Their wretched- 

JL •,-,'■ A. lie-- e.\eite> ralli- 

er horror than 

pity. Some are 

without the cov- 
ering even of a 
few rags, and other- emaciated 

with disease. The world has dis- 
claimed them : society turns it- 
back upon their distress, and has 
given them up to nakedness and 
hunger. 

Why, why was I born a man, 
and yet see the Bufferings of 
wretches I cannot relieve? Poor 
houseless creatures! the world 
will give you reproaches, bul will 
not give you relief. The slightest 
misfortunes ol' the great, the mosl 
imaginary uneasiness of the rich, 
are aggravated with all the power 
of eloquence, and held up to en- 
gage our attention and sympa- 
thetic sorrow The poor weep 

unheeded, persecuted by every 
subordinate species of tyranny; 
an ememy to them. 




and 



Oliver Goldsmith. 



HE years back of US are full of voices — voices eloqueal and pathetic. You who have 
lived long, have stood over the grave of many an early dream. Success, when it 
came, was not what you thought it would be, and even success has often heen denied you. 
You have watched by the COUCh of many a hope, and -ecu it fail and die. You have 
buried many a bright expectation, and laid the memorial wreath over many a joy. With- 
ered garlands are there, and broken rings, and vases once fragrant with flowers, and the 
white faces of those that sleep. 



430 



THE EOYAL GALLERY. 



THE BLUE AND THE GRAY. 



ji 



ppjiY the flow of the inland river, 
fslt Whence the fleets of iron have fled, 
"^fp Where the blades of the grave-grass quiver, 
Asleep are the ranks of the dead ; — 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment-day; — 
Under the one, the Blue ; 
Under the other, the Gray. 

These in the robings of glory, 

Those in the gloom of defeat, 
All with the battle-blood gory, 
In the dusk of eternity meet; — 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment-day; — 
Under the laurel, the Blue ; 
Under the willow, the Gray. 

From the silence of sorrowful hours 

The desolate mourners go, 
Lovingly laden with flowers 
Alike for the friend and the foe ; — 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment-day; — 
Under the roses, the Blue ; 
Under the lilies, the Gray. 

So with an equal splendor 

The morning sun-rays fall, 
With a touch impartially tender, 

On the blossoms blooming for all ; — 



Under the sod and the dew, 
Waiting the judgment-day; — 

'Broidered with gold, the Blue; 
Mellowed with gold, the Gray* 

So, when the summer calleth, 
On forest and field of grain 
With an equal murmur falleth 
The cooling drip of the rain ; — 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment-day; — 
Wet with the rain, the Blue ; 
Wet with the rain, the Gray. 

Sadly, but not with upbraiding, 

The generous deed was done ; 

In the storm of the years that are fading, 

No braver battle was won ;— 

Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment-day; — 
Under the blossoms, the Blue ; 
Under the garlands, the Gray. 

No more shall the war-cry sever, 

Or the winding rivers be red; 
They banish our anger forever 
When they laurel the graves of our dead! 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment-day; — 
Love and tears for the Blue ; 
Tears and love for the Gray. 

Francis Miles Finch. 




THE NOBILITY OF LIFE. 



-* ' ■ • •+- 




CLEAR THE WAT. 



be up and Btirrlng, night and 



:EX of thought, 

day, 
I" Sow the seed— withdraw the curtain — clear the 
way; 

Men of action, aid and cheer them, as ye may! 
There 's a fount about to stream. 
There 's a lighl about to beam. 
There *s a warmth about to glow, 
There 's a flower about to blow- 
There 's a midnight blackness changing into gray. 
Men of thought and men of action. clear THK WAV ! 



Once the welcome light has broken, who shall 

Bay 
What the unimagined glories of the day? 
What the evil thai -ball perish in its raj ' 
Aid the dawning, tongue and pen-, 
Aid it, hopes of honest men; 
Aid it. paper; aid it, type? 
Aid it. for the hour is ripe, 
And our earnest must not slacken into play. 
Men of thought 'and men of actiou. cleak thk 
way! 

431 



432 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



Lo! a cloud 's about to vanish from the day; 

And a brazen wrong to crumble into clay. 

Lo ! the right 's about to conquer : clear the way ! 

With the right shall many more 

Enter smiling at the door ; 



With the giant wrong shall fall 

Many others, great and small, 
That for ages long have held us for their prey. 
Men of thought and men of action, clear the way! 
Charles Mackay. 



3--a<r^L 



WHAT IS NOBLE ? 



*HAT is noble?— to inherit 

Wealth, estate, and proud degree? — 
There must be some other merit 

Higher yet than these for me! — 
Something greater far must enter 

Into life's majestic span, 
Fitted to create and centre 

True nobility in man. 

What is noble? — 'tis the finer 

Portion of our mind and heart, 
Linked to something still diviner 

Than mere language can impart: 
Ever prompting — ever seeing 

Some improvement yet to plan; 
To uplift our fellow-being, 

And, like man, to feel for Man ! 

What is noble? — is the sabre 
Nobler than the humble spade 
here 's a dignity in labor 
Truer than e'er pomp arrayed! 

He who seeks the mind's improvement 
Aids the world, in aiding mind! 

Every great commanding movement 
Serves not one, but all mankind. 



O'er the forge's heat and ashes, — 

O'er the engine's iron head, — 
Where the rapid shuttle flashes, 

And the spindle whirls its thread : 
There is labor, lowly tending 

Each requirement of the hour, — 
There is genius, still extending 

Science, and its world of power! 

'Mid the dust, and speed, and clamor, 

Of the loom-shed and the mill; 
'Midst the clink of wheel and hammer, 

Great results are growing still! 
Though too oft, by fashion's creatures, 

Work and workers may be blamed, 
Commerce need not hide its features, — 

Industry is not ashamed! 

What is noble? — tha' vhich places 

Truth in its enfranchised will, 
Leaving steps, like angel-traces, 

That mankind may follow still! 
E'en though scorn's malignant glances 

Prove him poorest of his clan, 
He 's the Noble — who advances 

Freedom, and the Cause of Man ! 

Charles Swain. 



J^-36--£L 



THE LABORER. 



fTAND up — erect ! Thou hast the form 
And likeness of thy God ! — Who more? 
A soul as dauntless 'mid the storm 
Of daily life, a heart as warm 

And pure, as breast e'er wore. 

What then? — Thou art as true a man 
As moves the human mass among; 
As much a part of the great plan 
That with creation's dawn began, 
As any of the throng. 

Who is thine enemy? The high 

In station, or in wealth the chief? 
"The great, who coldly pass thee by, 
With proud step and averted eye? 
Nay ! nurse not such belief. 



If true unto thyself thou wast, 

What were the proud one's scorn to <\ 
A feather which thou mightest cast 
Aside, as idly as the blast 

The light leaf from the tree. 

No : uncurbed passions, low desires, 

Absence of noble self-respect, 
Death, in the breast's consuming fires, 
To that high nature which aspires 
Forever, till thus checked ; — 

These are thine enemies — thy worst: 

They chain thee to thy lowly lot; 
Thy labor and thy life accursed. 
O, stand erect, and from them burst, 
And longer suffer not. 



■UK NOBILITY OF LIFE. 



43* 



Thou art thyself thine enemy: 

The great! — what better they than thou? 
As theirs is not thy will aa free? 
Bum God wiih equal favors thee 
Neglected to endow P 

Tnicwcaiili thou hast noi—'tis i)iu dust; 

Nor place — uncertain a- the wind; 
But that thou hast, whirh. with thy cruel 



And water, may despise the lust 
Of both — a uoble mind. 

With thi~. ami passions under ban, 

True faith, and holy trust in (,."1. 
Thou art the peer of any man. 
Look up then; that tin little span 
Of life may be well trod. 

William D. Gallagher. 




TACT AM) TALEXT. 

ALEXT is something, hut tart is everything. Talent i> serious, sober, 
| grave and respectable: taol i- all that, ami more too. It i- not a sixth 
sense, bul it is the lit'.- of all the five. It i- the open eye. the quick ear, 
the judging taste, the keen smell, ami the lively touch: it is the interpre- 
l ter of all riddles, the surmounter of all difficulties, the remover of all 
obstacles. It is useful in all places, and at all time-: it i- useful in soli- 
tude, for it shows a man his way into the world: it i- useful in -ociety, 
for it shows him his way through the world. Talent is power, tact is 
skill: talent is weight, tact is momentum; talent know- what to do. tact 
know- how to do it ; talent make- a man respectable, tact will make him 
respected; talent is wealth, tad is ready money. For all the practical 
purposes of life, tact carries it against talent ten to one. Take them to 

the theatre, ami put them againsl each other on the stage, and talent shall 
produce you a tragedy that will scarcely live long enough to bo con- 
demned, while tact keeps the house in a roar, night after night, with it- successful farces. 
There is no want of dramatic talent, there is no want of dramatic tact ; hut they are seldom 
together: so we have successful pieces which are not respectable, and respectable pie-cs 
Which are not successful. 

Take them to the bar, and let them -hake their learned curls at each other in legal 

rivalry: talent sees its way clearly, hut tact is first at it- journey'- end. Talent ha- many 
a compliment from the bench, but tact touches fees from attorneys and clients. Talent 
speaks learnedly and logically, tact triumphantly. Talent makes the world wonder 
that it gets on no faster, tact excites astonishment that it gets on so fast. And the 
secret is, that it has no weight to carry; it makes no false steps; it hits the right nail on the 
head: it loses no time: it takes all hints and by keeping its eye on the weathercock, is 
ready to take advantage of every wind that blows. Take them into the church. Talent 
has always something worth hearing, tact is sure of abundance of hearers; talent may 
obtain a living, tact will make one: talent L r <t- a good name, tact a great one; talent 
convinces, tact converts; talent is an honor to the profession, tact gains honor from the 
profession. 

Take them to court. Talent feels its weight, tact finds it- way : talent commands, tact is 
obeyed; talent is honored with approbation, and tact is blessed by preferment. Place them 
in the senate. Talent lias the ear of the house, but tact wins its heart, and has its votes; 
talent is fit for employment, but tact is lifted for it. It has a knack of slipping into place 



434 



THE EOYAL GALLEEY. 



with a sweet silence and glibness of movement, as a billiard-ball insinuates itself into the 
pocket. It seems to know everything, without learning anything. It has served an 
invisible and extemporary apprenticeship ; it wants no drilling ; it never ranks in the awk- 
ward squad; it has no left hand, no deaf ear, no blind side. It puts on no looks of won- 
drous wisdom, it has no air of profundity, but plays with the details of place as dexter- 
ously as a well-taught hand nourishes over the keys of the piano-forte. It has all the air 
of commonplace, and all the force and power of genius. 



-S-— *-W/Z£=£Z/Znsir- 



NEYEB, GIVE UP. 



RSKsEVER give up ! — it is wiser and better 

PH Always to bope, than once to despair ; 

* Fling off tbe load of doubt's cankering fetters, 

I And break tbe dark spell of tyrannical care. 

Never give up, or the burden may sink you, — 

Providence kindly bas mingled tbe cup ; 
And in all trials and troubles bethink you, 
The watchword of life must be, "Never give up !" 

Never give up ; there are chances and changes, 
Helping the hopeful, a hundred to one, 

And through the chaos, High Wisdom arranges 
Ever success, if you '11 only hold on. 



Never give up ; for the wisest is boldest, 
Knowing that Providence mingles the cup, 

And of all maxims, the best, as the oldest, 
Is the stern watchword of " Never give up ! ' 

Never give up, though the grape-shot may rattle, 

Or the full thunder-cloud over you burst; 
Stand like a rock, and the storm or the battle 

Little shall harm you, though doing their worst. 
Never give up ; if adversity presses, 

Providence wisely has mingled the cup ; 
And the best counsel in all your distresses 

Is the brave watchword of "Never give up! " 



THE GENTLEMAN. 



gHEN you have found a man, you have not far to go to find a gentleman. You 
can not make a gold ring out of brass. You can not change a Cape May 
crystal to a diamond. You can not make a gentleman till you have first a 
man. To be a gentleman, it will not be sufficient to have had a grandfather. 
To be a gentleman does not depend upon the tailor, or the toilet. Blood will degen- 
erate. Good clothes are not good habits. A gentleman is just a gentle-man; no more, 
no less; a diamond polished, that was first a diamond in the rough. A gentleman 
is gentle. A gentleman is modest. A gentleman is courteous. A gentleman is gen- 
erous. A gentleman is slow to take offense, as being one that never gives it. A 
gentleman is slow to surmise evil, as being one that never thinks it. A gentleman 
goes armed only in consciousness of right. A gentleman subjects his appetites. A 
gentleman refines his taste. A gentleman subdues his feelings. A gentleman deems 
every other better than himself. Sir Philip Sidney was never so much a gentleman, — 
mirror though he was of England's knighthood, — as when, upon the field of Zutphen, 
as he lay in his own blood, he waived the draught of cold spring water, that was 
brought to quench his mortal thirst, in favor of a dying soldier. St. Paul described a 
gentleman when he exhorted the Philippian Christians: — "Whatsoever things are just, 
whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good 
report, if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things." 

George W. Doane. 



TIIE NOBILITY OF LIFE. 



435 



WANT OF DECISION. 

GREAT deal of labor is Losl to the world for the want of a little courage. Every 
day Bends to their graves a Dumber of obscure men, who have onlj remained in 
obscurity because their timidity has prevented them from making a firsl effort, 
and who, if they had only been induced to begin, would have in all probability 
gone greal lengths in the career of fame. The fact is, thai in doing anything in 

the world worth doing, we musl not -land shivering on the hank, thinking of the cold and 
danger, but jump in, and scramble through a- well a- we can. It will not do to be 
perpetually calculating risks and adjusting nice chances; it did all very well before the 
tlood, when a man could consult his friends upon an intended publication for a hundred 
and fifty years, and live to see its success tor six or seven centuries afterward; but 
at presenl a man waits and doubt-, and consults his brother, and uncles, ami his par- 
ticular friends, till one day he finds that he is sixty-five years of ai r e, and that he has lost 
so much time in consulting first COUSins and particular friends, that he ha- no more time to 

follow their advice. There i- so little time for over-squeamishness at present, that the 

Opportunity slips away. The very period of life at which a man choOSOS to venture, 
if ever, is SO Confined that it i- no had rule t<> preaeh up the necessity, in such 

instances, of a little violence done to the feelings, and efforts made in defiance of strict 

and sober calculation-. 

Sidney Smith. 



FOE A" THAT AM) A' THAT. 



9 there, for honest poverty, 

Thai hangs hi- bead, ami a' that? 
Tin- coward-slave, we pa-- him by, 

We dare '»■ i r for a 1 thai I 

For a' that, ami a' that. 

Our toil- obscure, ami a" that, 
The rank i- bul the guinea stamp; 
The man '- the gowd for a' that. 

What though "ii hamely fare we dine, 

Wear hodden-gray, ami a' thai. 
Oil' fools their -ilk<. ami knaves their wine, 
A man's a man. for a' thai : 
For a* thai ami a' thai : 

Their tinsel show ami a" thai : 
The honest man. though o'er -ae pour. 
Is king o* men for a' that. 

Ye Bee yon birkie, ca'd a lord, 
Wha struts, and stares, and a' that: 

Though hundreds worship at his word. 
He '8 bul a COOl for a' that. 



l or a 1 thai ami a 1 that, 
Hi- riband, -tar. ami a' that, 

The limn .a independent mind. 
11 Lool ad laughs at a' that. 

A prince • - : 1 11 mak a belted knight, 

.\ marquis, duke, aud a 1 that: 
But an bonesl man 's al a hi- might, 

Guid faith, he mauna fa' thai ! 

1 ,.r a' thai, and a' that, 

Their dignities, ami a' thai. 
'I be pith "' -'ii-'. and pride o 1 worth. 

An' higher rank- than a' that. 

Then let as pray thai come it may. 
A- .(.in.' il w ill for a" that. 

That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth. 
May bear the gree, and a' that. 
Tor a' that, and a' that. 

It '- coming yet, for a" that : 

Thai man in man. the warld o'er. 

Shall brothers be for a' that. 

Robert Burns. 



436 



THE EOYAL GALLERY. 



ODE TO DUTY. 



JfL 



?TERN daughter of the voice of God ! 
I O Duty! if that name thou love 
' Who art a light to guide, a rod 
1 To check the erring, and reprove ; 

Thou who art victory and law 

When empty terrors overawe ; 

From vain temptations dost set free; 

And calm' st the weary strife of frail humanity! 

There are who ask not if thine eye 
Be on them; who, in love and truth, 
Where no misgiving is, rely 
Upon the genial sense of youth ; 
Glad hearts! without reproach or blot; 
Who do thy work, and know it not : 
May joy he theirs while life shall last! 
And thou, if they should totter, teach them to 
stand fast! 

Serene will he our days and bright, 
And happy will our nature be, 
When love is an unerring light, 
And joy its own security. 
And blest are they who in the main 
This faith, oven now, do entertain : 
Live in the spirit of this creed ; 
Yet find that other strength, according to their 
need. 

I, loving freedom, and untried : 
No sport of every random gust, 
Yet being to myself a guide, 
Too bliudly have reposed my trust; 



Full oft, when in my heart was heard 

Thy timely mandate, I deferred 

The task imposed, from day to day ; 

But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may. 

Through no disturbance of my soul, 

Or strong compunctions in me wrought, 

I supplicate for thy control ; 

But in the quietness of thought ; 

Me this unchartered freedom tires; 

I feel the weight of chance desires : 

My hopes no more must change their name, 

I long for a repose which ever is the same. 

Stern lawgiver ! yet thou dost wear 
The Godhead's most benignant grace; 
Nor know we anything so fair 
As is the smile upon thy face ; 
Flowers laugh before thee on their beds; 
And fragrance in thy footing treads ; 
Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong : 
And the most ancient heavens, through thee, are 
fresh and strong. 

To humbler functions, awful power ! 
I call thee ; I myself commend 
Unto thy guidance from this hour; 
Oh ! let my weakness have an end ! 
Give unto me, made lowly wise, 
The spirit of self-sacrifice ; 
The confidence of reason give; 
And, in the light of truth, thy bondman let me live ! 
William Wordsworth. 



A GKEAT LAWYER 



TRULY Great Lawyer is one of the highest products of civilization. He is a 
master of the science of human experience. He sells his clients the results of 
that experience, and is thus the merchant of wisdom. The labors of many 
generations of legislators and judges enrich his stores. His learning is sufficient 
to enable him to realize the comparative littleness of all human achievements. He has 
outlived the ambition of display before courts and juries. He loves justice, law, and 
peace. He has learned to bear criticism without irritation; censure without anger; and 
calumny without retaliation. He has learned how surely all schemes of evil bring disaster 
to those who support them; and that the granite shaft of a noble reputation cannot 
be destroyed by the poisoned breath of slander. 

A Great Lawyer will not do a mean thing for money. He hates vice, and delights to 
stand forth a conquering champion of virtue. The good opinions of the just are precious 
in his esteem ; but neither love of friends, nor fear of foes, can swerve him from the 
path of duty. He esteems his office of counselor as higher than political place or 



OUR /EARS. 




">ur lives will he told hy the li^'ht we shed 
low where we may lead 
ired by what is ■ 
.. e, which ihx- Judg; will 

read. 



THE NOBILITY OF LIFE. 



437 



scholastic distinction. He detest- unnecessary litigation, and delights in averting danger, 
and restoring peace by wise counsel and skilful plans. The good works of the counsel- 
room are sweeter to him than the glories of the forum. He proves that honesty is the 
best policy, and thai peace pays both lawyer and client, better than controversy. In a 
legal contest, h< will give his client the benefit of the besl presentation of whatever 
points of fad 01 if law may be in hi- power: but he will neither pervert the law, nor 
falsify the facta >~ defeat an adversary. The motto of his battle-flag is: Fidelity to 
the law and the facts, — semper Jiihlis. 

('. C. Boxxey. 



LABOR. 



<3TV\rsK not to dream of t ho future before as; 
$k~-j I'ause not ti) weep the wild care- thai conn- 
o'er us; 
I lark : hr.w (.'ivatioii's deep, musical ChO-rUB, 

Unintermitting, goes up Into Heaven! 

STever tl an-wave falters to (lowing; 

Never the little .-red -top- In ii- growing; 

More and more richly the rosc-hearl keeps glowing, 

Till from its nourishing stem ii i- riven. 

•■ Labor is worship! "'— the robin i- Binging; 
•• Labor is worship] "—the wild-bee is ringing; 
Li-ten! that eloquent whisper upspringing 

speak- to thj Bonl from out Nature's great heart. 
From the dark cloud flows the Life-giving Bhower; 
From the rough sod blows the aoft-breathing flower; 
From the small insect, the rich coral bower; 

Only man, in the plan. shrinks from bis part 

Labor is life! 'Tis the still water faileth; 
idleness ever despaireth, bewaileth; 

Keep the wateh wound, fur the dark ru-t asgaileth; 
Flowers droop and die in the Btillness Of noon. 

Labor is glory!— the flying cloud lightens; 
Only the waving wing changes and brightens; 
Idle hearts only the dark future frightens: 

Play thc> sweet keys, WOUldSl thou keep them in 
tune! 



Labor i< real from the Borrows thai greet us, 
Rest from all petty vexation- thai meet us, 
Rest from Bin-promptings that ever entreat us. 
Rest from world-sirens that hue u- to ill. 

Work -and pure -lumber- shall wait on thy pillow; 

Work thou -halt ride over Care's coming billow; 
Lie aot down wearied 'neatfa Woe's weeping-willow; 

Work with a -tout heart ami resolute will! 
Labor is health! Lo! the bu-banduian reaping, 

How through his veins goes the life-current leapiogl 

How hi- Strong arm in it- -talwart pride Bweeping, 
True as a -unbeam the swift -iekle guides ! 

Labor i- wealth — in the sea the pearl growetb ; 
Rich the queen's robe from the frail cocoon floweth; 
From the line acorn the strong forest bloweth: 

Temple and -tatue the marble block hide-. 

Droop not. though shame, -in. and anguish are round 

thee! 

Bravely Him; off the cold chain that hath bound thee! 
Look to yon pure Heaven smiling bey 1 thee; 

Rest ii"i content in thy darkm a clod! 

Work — for some good, be it ever so slow ly ; 
Cherish Bome flower, be it ever so lowly; 

Labor!— all labor i- noble and holy! 

Let tin great deeds be thj prayer to thy God! 

Frances Sargent Osgood. 



ADVICE TO TOUXG MEN. 

— t r ■ 

£?U^OUXCt men, you are the architects of your own fortunes. Rely upon your 
-^- own strength of body and soul. Take for your star self-reliance, faith, 
; honesty, and industry. Inscribe on your banner, " Luck is a fool, pluck is 
a hero.'* Don't take too much advice — keep at your helm and steer your 
own ship, and remember that the great art of commanding is to take a fair share 
of the work. Don't practice too much humility. Think well of yourself. Strike 
out. Assume your own position. Put potatoes in your cart, over a rough road s 



438 



THE KOYAL GALLERY. 



and small ones go to the bottom. Rise above the envious and the jealous. Fire 
above the mark }'ou intend to hit. Energy, invincible determination, with a right 
motive, are the levers that move the world. Don't drink. Don't chew. Don't 
smoke. Don't swear. Don't deceive. Don't read trashy novels. Don't marry 
until you can support a wife. Be in earnest. Be self-reliant. Be generous. Be 
civil. Eead the papers. Advertise your business. Make money and do good with 
it. Love your God and fellow-men. Love truth and virtue. Love your country, 
and obey its laws. If this advice be implicitly followed by the young men of the 
country, the millennium is near at hand. 

Noah Porter. 



A PSALM OF LIFE. 

WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO THE PSALMIST. 



ELL me not, in mournful numbers, 
" Life is but an empty dream! " 
For the soul is dead that slumbers, 
And things are not what they seem. 

Life is real ! Life is earnest ! 

And the grave is not its goal ; 
"Dust thou art, to dust returnest," 

Was not spoken of the soul. 

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, 

Is our destined end or way ; 
But to act, that each to-morrow 

Find us farther than to-day. 

Art is long, and Time is fleeting, 
And our hearts, though stout and brave, 

Still, like muffled drums are beating 
Funeral marches to the grave. 

In the world's broad field of battle, 
In the bivouac of Life, 



Be not like dumb, driven cattle! 
Be a hero in the strife ! 

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant! 

Let the dead Past bu^ its dead ! 
Act, — act in the living Present! 

Heart within, and God o'erhead! 

Lives of great men all remind us 

We can make our lives sublime, 
And, departing, leave behind us 

Footprints on the sands of time ; 

Footprints, that perhaps another, 

Sailing o'er life's solemn main, 
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, 

Seeing, shall take heart again. 

Let us, then, be up and doing, 

With a heart for any fate ; 
Still achieving, still pursuing, 

Learn to labor and to wait. 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 



-5—«-"WJ^2/&V-»— 3- 



TEIALS A TEST OF CHARACTER 



-£§2, 



^ffiPAIN are all the efforts of slander, permanently to injure the fame of a good man ! 
WjjIM There is a cascade in a lovely Swiss valley which the fierce winds catch and 
%g^ scatter so soon as it pours over the summit of the rock, and for a season the 
"^ continuity of the fall is broken, and you see nothing but a feathery wreath of 
apparently helpless spray ; but if you look further down the consistency is recovered, 
and the Staubbach pours its rejoicing waters as if no breeze had blown at all. Nay, the 
blast which interrupts it only fans it into more marvelous loveliness, and makes it a 
shrine of beauty where all pilgrim footsteps travel. And so the blasts of calumny, howl 
they ever so fiercely over the good man's head, contribute to his juster appreciation and to 
his wider fame. What are circumstances, — I wonder, that they should hinder a true 



THE NOBILITY OF LTFE. 



439 



man when his heart is set within him to do a right thing! Let a man he firmly principled 
in his religion, he may travel from the tropics to the polo, it will never catch cold 
on the journey. Set him down in the desert, and just as the palm-tree thrusts its roots 
beneath the envious sand in search of sustenance, he will manage somehow to rind 
living water there. Banish him to the dreariest Patmos you can find, he will gel a grand 
Apocalypse among its barren crags. Thrust him into an inner prison, and make his 
feet fast in the stocks, the doxology will reverberate through the dungeon, making such 
melody within its walls of stone that the jailer shall relapse into a man. and the prisoners 
hearing it shall dream of freedom and of home. 

William Morley. Punshon. 



GRADAT1M. 



AYK\ 18 imi reached al a Bingle bound; 
But we build the ladder by w blch we rise 
From the lowly earth to the vaulted Bides, 

Ami we mount to Its Bummil round by round. 

1 count this thing to be grandly true, 
That a oohle deed is a Btep toward God, 
Lifting the bou] from the co ton sod 

To a purer ah' and a broader view . 

We rise by the things thai are under our feet; 
By what we have mastered ot good and gain, 
By the pride deposed and passion slain, 

And the vanquished ill- thai we 1 rly meet. 

We hope, we aspire, we resolve, we trust, 
When the morning calls as to life and light ; 
But our heart- grow weary, and ere the night 

Our lives are trailing In sordid dust. 



We bope, we resolve, we aspire, we pray, 

And we think thai we mount th«' air on wings 

i; ond the recall ol sensual things, 
Whil r feel -till cling to the beavy clay. 

Wings tor the angels, but feel tor men! 
We borrow the wings i" find the way— 
We aiaj bope, and resolve, and aspire, and pray, 

Bui our feel must rise, or we fall again. 

Onlj in dreams i- a ladder throw n 
Prom the wear] earth to the sapphire walls; 
Bui the dreams depart and the vision (alls, 

And the Bleeper wakes on bis pillow of stone. 

Heaven Is ool reached at a single bound; 
But we build the ladder by which we rise 
From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies, 

And we mount to it- Summit round by round. 

Josi \n Gilbert Holland. 

-36-^ ♦ 



HOW To LIVE. 



»S|E liveth Ion;: "ho livetll well! 
PtX, All other lit.- i- -bort and vain; 
liveth longest who can tell 
Ji Of living most for heavenly gain. 

He liveth long w bo liveth well! 

All else Is being flung away; 
lie liveth longest who can tell 

Of true things truly done each day. 

Waste not thy being; back to Him 
Who freely nave it. freely give; 

Else i- thai being but a dream; 
T Is but to i" . and not to line. 

Be what thou seemest ! live thy creed] 

Hold 11)1 to earth the torch divine; 



Be w hat thou prayest to be mad.': 

Let tie- great Muster's steps be thine. 

Fill up each horn with what will last ; 

Buy up tin- moments a- thej go; 
The lit'' above, w ben ihi- is past, 

I- the rip'- fruit of lite behm . 

Sow truth, if thou the truth wouldst reap: 
Who sows the false -ball reap the vain; 
Erect and Bound thy conscience keep; 

From hollow words and deeds refrain. 

Sow love, and taste its fruitage pure; 

Sow peace, ami reap it ~ harvests bright; 
Sow sunbeam- on the rock and moor. 

And find a harvest-home of li^-iit. 

HOKATILS BONAB. 



440 



THE KOYAL GALLERY. 



PRESS ON. 



IRESS on! there 's no such word as fail; 

Press nobly on ! the goal is near, — 
Ascend the mountain ! breast the gale ! 

Look upward, onward, — never fear! 
Why should'st thou faint? Heaven smiles above 

Though storm and vapor intervene ; 
That Sun shines on, whose name is Love, 

Serenely o'er life's shadowed scene. 

Press on ! surmount the rocky steeps, 

Climb boldly o'er the torrent's arch ; 
He fails alone who feebly creeps ; 

He wins who dares the hero's march. 
Be thou a hero ! let thy might 

Tramp on eternal snows its way, 
And through the ebon walls of night 

Hew down a passage unto day. 

Press on ! if once, and twice, thy feet 

Slip back and stumble, harder try; 
Prom him who never dreads to meet 

Danger and death, they 're sure to fly. 
To coward ranks the bullet speeds ; 

While on their breasts who never quail, 
Gleams, guardian of chivalric deeds, 

Bright courage, like a coat of mail. 



Press on ! if fortune play thee false 

To-day, to-morrow she '11 be true ; 
Whom now she sinks, she now exalts, 

Taking old gifts and granting new. 
The wisdom of the present hour 

Makes up for follies past and gone ; 
To weakness strength succeeds, and power 

Prom frailty springs; — Press on! Press on! 

Press on ! what though upon the ground 

Thy love has been poured out like rain? 
That happiness is always found 

The sweetest that is born of pain. 
Oft 'mid the forest's deepest glooms, 

A bird sings from some blighted tree ; 
And in the dreariest desert, blooms 

A never-dying rose for thee. 

Therefore, press on ! and reach the goal, 

And gain the prize, and wear the crown ; 
Faint not ! for to the steadfast soul 

Come wealth and honor and renown. 
To thine own self be true, and keep 

Thy mind from sloth, thy heart from soil; 
Press on ! and thou shalt surely reap 

A heavenly harvest for thy toil. 

Park Benjamin. 



A TKUE WOMAN. 



|IVE ear, fair daughter of love, to the instructions of prudence, and let the precepts 
of truth sink deep in thy heart: so shall the charms of thy mind add lustre to 
the elegance of thy form; and thy beauty, like the rose it resembleth, shall 
retain its sweetness when its bloom is withered. In the spring of thy youth, 
in the morning of thy days, when the eyes of men gaze on thee with delight, and 
nature whispereth in thine ear the meaning of their looks ; ah ! hear with caution their 
seducing words; guard well thy heart, nor listen to their soft persuasions. Remember 
that thou art made man's reasonable companion, not the slave of his passion; the end of thy 
being is not merely to gratify his loose desire, but to assist him in the toils of life, to 
soothe him with thy tenderness, and recompense his care with soft endearments. Who 
is she that winneth the heart of man, that subdueth him to love, and reigneth in his 
breast? Lo ! yonder she walketh in maiden sweetness, with innocence in her mind and 
modesty on her cheek. Her hand seeketh employment, her foot delighteth not in gad- 
ding abroad. She is clothed with neatness, she is fed with temperance: humility and 
meekness are as a crown of glory circling her head. On her tongue dwelleth music, 
the sweetness of honey floweth from her lips. Decency is in all her words; in her 
answers are mildness and truth. Submission and obedience are the lessons of her life, 
and peace and happiness are her reward. Before her steps walketh prudence, and 
virtue attendeth at her right hand. Her eye speaketh softness and love; but discretion 



THE NOBILITY OF LIFE. 441 

with a sceptre sitteth on her brow. The tongue of the licentious is dumb in her pres- 
nice; the awe of her virtue keepeth him silent. When scandal i.s busy, and the fame 
of her neighbor is tossed from tongue to tongue; if charity and good nature open not 
her mouth, the finger of silence resteth on her lips. Her breast is the mansion of 
goodness; and therefore she suspecteth no evil in others. Happy were the man that 
should make her his wife; happy the child that shall call her mother. She presideth 
in the house, and there is peace; she commandeth witli judgment, and is obeyed. She 
aii-eth in the morning, she considers her affairs, and appointeth to every one their 
proper business. The care of her family i- her whole delight, to that alone she 
applieth her study: and elegance with frugality is seen in her mansions. The prudence 
of her management is an honor to her husband, and he heareth her praise with a secret 
delight. She informeth the minds of her children with wisdom; she fashioneth their 
maniier- from the example of her own goodness. The word of her mouth is the law 
of their youth; the motion of her eye eomuiandeth obedience. She speaketh, and her 
servants fly; -lie pointeth, and the thing is done: for the law of love i- in their hearts, 

and her kindness addeth wings to their feet. In prosperity she is not puffed up; in 

adversity she healeth the wounds of fortune with patience. The troubles of her hus- 
band are alleviated bj her counsels, and sweetened by her endearment-: lie puttetfa his 

heart in her bosom, and reeciveth comfort. Happy is the man that hath made her his 
wife; happy the child that calleth her mother. 

Robert Dodsley. 



THE SUPREMACY el-' VTBTTJE. 

■ERTOl may i"- assailed, bul never hurt: Gathered dke Bcum, and settled to Itself, 

■ Surprised by uujoal force, bat aot InthraHfid; it shall !>■■ in eternal restless change 

* Tea, even that which mischief meant moat harm Self-fed and self-consumed : if this fail, 

. Shall in the happy trial prove must glory: The pillared firmament i- rottenness, 

Bui evil on Itself -hall back recoil, And earth's base buill ou Btubble. 

And mix no inuiv with goodness, when al last. .John Mm ion 



□STDUSTET A3CD GEIHTTS. 

)USTlvY is a substitute for genius. Where one or more faculties exist in the 
highest state of development and activity,— as the faculty of music in Mozart, 
— invention in Fulton. — ideality in Milton, — we call their possessor a genius. 
But a genius is usually understood to be a creature of such rare facility of 
mind, that he can do anything without labor. According to the popular notion, 
he learns without study, and knows without learning. He is eloquent without prepa- 
ration, exact without calculation, and profound without reflection. "While ordinary 
men toil for knowledge by reading, by comparison, and by minute research, a genius 
is supposed to receive it as the mind receives dreams. His mind is like a vast 
cathedral, through whose colored windows the sunlight streams, painting the aisles 
with the varied colors of brilliant pictures. Such minds may exist. So far as my 



442 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



observations have ascertained the species, they abound in academies, colleges, and 
Thespian societies; in village debating clubs; in coteries of young artists, and among 
young professional aspirants. They are to be known by a reserved air, excessive 
sensitiveness, and utter indolence; by very long hair, and very open shirt collars; 
by the reading of much wretched poetry, and the writing of much yet more 
wretched; by being very conceited, very affected, very disagreeable, and very useless, 
— beings whom no man wants for friend, pupil, or companion. 

Henry Ward Beecher 



3^(r>£L 



THE LIGHT OF STARS. 



|HE night is come, but not too soon; 
I And sinking silently, 
All silently, the little moon 
Drops down behind the sky. 

There is no light in earth or heaven, 
But the cold light of stars ; 

And the first watch of night is given 
To the red planet Mars. 

Is it the tender star of love? 

The star of love and dreams? 
O no ! from that blue tent above, 

A hero's armor gleams. 

And earnest thoughts within me rise, 

When I behold afar, 
Suspended i-n the evening skies, 

The shield of that red star. 

O star of strength ! I see thee stand 
And smile upon my pain ; 



Thou beckonest with thy mailed hand, 
And I am strong again. 

Within my breast there is no light, 

But the cold light of stars ; 
I give the first watch of the night 

To the red planet Mars. 

The star of the unconquered will, 

He rises in my breast, 
Serene, and resolute, and still, 

And calm, and self-possessed. 

And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art, 

That readest this brief psalm, 
As one by one thy hopes depart, 

Be resolute and calm. 

O fear not in a world like this, 

And thou shalt know ere long, 
Know how sublime a thing it is 

To suffer and be strong. 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 



A HAPPY LIFE. 



|OW happy is he born and taught, 
That serveth not another's will ; 
Whose armor is his honest thought, 
And simple truth his utmost skill! 

Whose passions not his masters are, 
Whose soul is still prepared for death, 
Not tied unto the world with care 
Of public fame, or private breath ; 

Who envies none that chance doth raise, 
Or vice ; who never understood 
How deepest wounds are given by praise; 
Nor rules of state, but rules of good ; 



Who hath his life from rumors freed, 
Whose conscience is his strong retreat; 
Whose state can neither flatterers feed, 
Nor ruin make oppressors great; 

Who God doth late and early pray, 
More of his grace than gifts to lend; 
And entertains the harmless day 
With a well-chosen book or friend; 

This man is freed from servile bands, 
Of hope to rise, or fear to fall; 
Lord of himself, though not of lands; 
And having nothing, yet hath all. 

Sir Henry Wotton. 



THE NOBILITY OF LIFE. 



443 



MY MIND TO ME A KINGDOM IS. 



V mind to me a kingdom i-. 

Smii perfect joy therein I find, 

$*j That it excel- all nlhri- 

* That (...,i or aature bath assigned : 

Though much I want thai mosl would have, 
\ ci -till mj iiiiml forbids t<> crave. 

No princely port, QOr weallh> StO 

Nor force to h In a rictorj ; 
No wily w it to salve a sore, 

N'n Bhape to \\ in a Loving i 
To aone of these l j Leld as thrall, 
Km- « bj . mj mind despise them all. 

I Bee thai plenty surfeits oft, 
Ami bastj climbers Boouesl fall; 

l -ii' that such as are aloft, 
Mi-hap ilnili threaten mosl of all; 

These get with toll, ami keep with fear: 

Such cares inj mind can aever bear. 



l press t" bear no haughty -way, 
1 wish uo more than may suffice; 

I do ii" iimrc than well 1 may. 
Look what I want my mind supplies; 

I.-. thus I triumph like a kiug, 

M\ mind's content with anything. 

I Laugh qoI at another's I"--. 

Nor grudge nut at another's gain; 
N.i worldlj waves my mind can toss; 

1 brook that i- another's bane; 
I fear no ii.e. n. .r lawn mi friend; 
l Loathe not lit.-. Dor dread mine end. 

M\ wealth i- health and perfect ease, 
Ami conscience clear my chiel defence; 

l never seek bj bribes t" please, 
Nor bj desert to give offence; 

Thus .1" 1 Live, thus win I die; 

\\ .ml. I all ii.. SO a- well a- I '. 

Sib Edward Dib 



■J-S-SX2— E"- 



STICCESS IE LIFE. 

gATTTl earnestly hold of life, as capacitated for and destined to high and noblo 
purpose. Study closely the mind's bent for labor or a profession. Adopt it 
early and pursue ii Bteadily, never looking back to the turning furrow, but 
forward to the ground thai ever remains to be broken. Mean- and way- are 
abundant to every man'- -net--, if will and action- are rightly adapted to them. Our 
rich men and our greal men have carved their path- to fortune, and by this internal 
principle — a principle thai cannot fail to reward him who resolutely pursues it. To 
sigh or repine over the lack of inheritance is unmanly. Every man should strive to be 
creator instead id' inheritor. lie should bequeath instead of borrow. He should be 
conscious of the power in him, and fight his own battles with his own lance. He should 
feel that it is better to earn a cruel than to inherit coffers of gold. When once l In- 
spirit of self-reliance is learned, every man will discover within himself the elements 
and capacities of wealth. He will he rich, inestimably rich in self-resources, ami can 
lift his head proudly to meet the noblest among men. 

HONORABLE EMPLOYMENT. 



?MY lord, lie nor idle: 
The chiefest action for a man of great spirit 
Is never to be out of act inn. We should think; 
The soul was never put Lnto the body, 
Which has so many rare and curious pieces 

Of mathematical motion, to stand still. 



Virtue is ever sowing of her seeds: 

In the trenches for the soldier: in the wakeful study 

For the scholar: in the furrow- of the sea 

For nun of our profession: of all which 

Arise and spring up honor. 

Joftn Webster. 



444 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



A RHYME OF LIFE. 



life be as a flame that death doth kill, 
Burn, little candle, lit for me, 
With a pure flame, that I may rightly see 
To word my song, and utterly 
God's plan fulfill. 

If life he as a flower that blooms and dies, 
Forbid the cunning frost tbat slays 
With Judas kiss, and trusting love betrays ; 



Forever may my song of praise 
Untainted rise. 

If life be as a voyage, foul or fair, 
Oh, bid me not my banneis furl 
For adverse gale, or wave in angry whirl, 
Till I have found the gates of pearl, 
And anchored there. 

Charles Warren Stoddard. 



INDUSTRY. 



IfipHE way to wealth is as plain as the way to market. It depends chiefly on two 
giUb words, industry and frugality; that is, waste neither time nor money, but make 
(||||p the best use of both. Without industry and frugality, nothing will do, and with 
^^ them everything. Sloth makes all things difficult, but industry all easy ; and he 
that riseth late must trot all day, and shall scarce overtake his business at night, while 
laziness travels so slowly that poverty soon overtakes him. Industry need not wish, 
and he that lives upon hopes will die fasting. There are no gains without pains ; then 
help, hands, for I have no lands; or if I have, they are smartly taxed. He that hath a 
trade hath an estate, and he that hath a calling hath an office of profit and honor; but 
then the trade must be worked at, and the calling followed, or neither the estate nor the 
office will enable us to pay our taxes. If we are industrious, we shall never starve ; 
for, at the working-man's house, hunger looks in, but dares not enter. Nor will the 
bailiff or the constable enter, for industry pays debts, while despair increaseth them. 
Employ thy time well, if thou meanest to gain leisure; and since thou art not sure of a 
minute, throw not away an hour. Leisure is time for doing something useful; this 
leisure the diligent man will obtain, but the lazy man never; for a life of leisure and 
a life of laziness are two things. 

Benjamin Franklin. 



MY WORK. 



f ASTER! to do great work for thee, my hand 
Is far too weak. Thou givest what may suit 
Some little chips to cut with care minute, 
Or tint, or grave, or polish. Others stand 
Before their quarried marble, fair and grand, 
And make a life-work of tbe great design 
Which thou hast traced ; or, many-skilled, combine 



To build vast temples, gloriously planned, 
Yet take the tiny stones which I have wrought, 

Just one by one, as they were given by thee, 
Not knowing what came next in thy wise thought. 
Set each stone by thy master-hand of grace, 

Form the mosaic as thou wilt, for me, 
And in thy temple-pavement give it place. 

Frances Ridley Havergai.. 



THE BETTEE LAXT). 




. 



There vu :i lime « hen ado w, prove and streuu 

The earth, and ev< rj i omi i 

To me did seem 

Apparelled In i ele6tial I 



ODE u.\ [MM( >RTALIT3 . 



YT^IIERE\v:i~;i timrwlifii meadow, grove and stream, 
--^y Tll( ' '■"'l'- :md .'very common sight, 
I" me did -rem 
Apparelled in celestial light, 
The glory and the freshness of a dream. 
h is qoI dow as il hath been of yore:— 
Turn whereso'er I may. 
By night or day. 
The Wiigs which I have seen I now can see no more. 



The rainbow comes and / 
And h.v.'ly i- the rose; 
The moon doth w idi delight 
Look round her when the heaven* hre hare- 
Waters on a starry night 
Are beautiful and fair; 
The sunshine is a glorious birth, 
Tim yel i is iow, where'er I go, 

. away a glory from 
44.3 



446 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song. 
And while the young lambs bound 
As to the tabor's sound, 
To me alone there came a thought of grief : 
A timely utterance gave that thought.relief. 

And I again am strong : 
The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep ; 
No more shall grief of mine the season wrong ; 
/hear the echoes through the mountains throng, 
f he winds come to me from the fields of sleep, 
And all the earth is gay; 
Land and sea 
Give themselves up to jollity, 
And with the heart of May 
Doth every beast keep holiday , 
Thou child of joy, 
Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy 
shepherd-boy ! 

Ye blessed creatures, I have heard the call 

Ye to each other make ; I see 
The heaveus laugh with you in your jubilee; 

My heart is at your festival, 

My head hath its coronal, 
The fullness of your bliss— I feel, I feel it all. 

evil day! if I were sullen 
"While Earth itself is adorning, 

This sweet May morning, 
And the children are culling, 

On every side, 
In a thousand valleys far and wide, 
Fresh flowers ; while the sun shines warm, 
And the babe leaps up on his mother's arm; 

1 hear, I hear, with joy I hear, 

— But there 's a tree, of many, one, 
A single field which I have looked upon— 
Both of them speak of something that is gone : 

The pansy at my feet 

Doth the same tale repeat: 
Whither is fled the visionary gleam? 
Where is it now, the glory and the dream? 

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting : 
The soul that rises with us, our life's star, 

Hath had elsewhere its setting, 
And cometh from afar : 

Not in entire forgetfulness, 

And not in utter nakedness, 
But trailing clouds of glory, do we come 

From God, who is our home : 
Heaven lies about us in our infancy ! 
Shades of the prison-house begin to close 

Upon the growing boy, 
But he beholds the li^ht, and whence it flows, 

He sees in it hie ^oy ; 
The youth, who daily farther from the east 

Must travel, still is Nature's priest, 

And by the vision splendid 

Is on his way attended ; 



At length the man perceives it die away, 
And fade into the light of common day. 

Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own; 
Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, 
And, even with something of a mother's mind, 
And no unworthy aim, 

The homely nurse doth all she can 
To make her foster-child,her inmate man, 

Forget the glories he hath known, 
And that imperial palace whence he came. 

Behold the child among his new-born blisses, 
A six years' darling of a pigmy size ! 
See where mid work of his own hand he lies, 
Fretted by sallies of his mothers' kisses, 
With light upon him from his father's eyes ! 
See, at his feet, some little plan or chart, 
Some fragment from his dream of human life, 
Shaped by himself with newly learned art ; 

A wedding or a festival, 

A mourning or a funeral ; 
And this hath now his heart, 

And unto this he frames his song: 
Then will he fit his tongue 
To dialogues of business, love, or strife! 

But it will not be long 

Ere this be thrown aside, 

And with new joy and pride 
The little actor cons another part : 
Filling from time to time his " humorous stage,' 
With all the persons, down to palsied age, 
That Life brings with her in her equipage ; 

As if his whole vocation 

Were endless imitation. 

Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie 

Thy soul's immensity; 
Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep 
Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind, 
That, deaf and silent, readest the eternal deep, 
Haunted forever by the eternal mind, — 

Mighty prophet ! Seer blest ! 

On whom those truths do rest 
Which we are toiling all our lives to find, 
In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave : 
Thou, over whom thy immortality 
Broods like the day, a master o'er a slave, 
A presence which is not to be put by; 
Thou little child, yet glorious in the might 
Of heaven-born freedom, on thy being's height, 
Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke 
The years to bring the inevitable yoke, 
Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife? 
Full soon thy soul shall have her earthly freight. 
And custom lie upon thee with a weight 
Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life! 

O joy! that in our embers 
Is something that doth live; 



THE BETTER LAXI). 



447 



That nature yet remembers 
What was bo fugitive! 
The thought of our past years in me doth breed 

Perpetual benediction; nol ind 1 

For that which i- mosl worths '" '"' blest; 
Delight and liberty, tli<- simple creed 
Of childhood, whether busj or al rest, 
With uew-fledged hope -till fluttering in hie 
Nol for these 1 Liaise 
The song of thanks and praise; 
But for those obstinate questionings 
Of sense and outward things, 

Fallings fr s, vanishings; 

Blank misgivings ol a creature 
Moving about in world- not realized, 
High Instincts before which our mortal nature 
I > i « 1 tremble like a guilt} thing surprised : 
But for those first affections, 
Those Bhadowy recollections, 
Which, i><- thej w hat thej maj . 
Are yet the fountain -light "i all our day, 
Are yet a master-light of all our seeing; 

Uphold n-. cherish, and* have power to make 

Our noisy years Beei raents In the being 

01 the eternal silence! truth- that wake, 

To perish never; 
Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavor, 
Nor man. nor boy, 

Nor all that is at e Itj w Ith joj . 

Can utterlj abolish or destroy! 

Mi-. ■ aim weather 

Though inland for we be, 
Our soul- have sight of that Immortal sea 
Which broughl u- hither; 
('an in a moment travel thither, 
And Bee the children sport upon the Bhore, 

And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore. 



Then sing, ye birds, sing, sing a joyous -oug! 

And let the young lambs bound 

As i" the tabor's sound! 
We in thought will join your throng, 

Ye that pipe and ye that play, 

Y' that through j our hearts to-daj 

Feel the gladness ot the May ! 
AVhat though the radiance which was once so bright 
Be now forever taken from my sight, 

i • -i 1 1 i 1 1 lt can bring back the hour 
Of splendor in the grass, of glorj in the flower; 

We will grieve not, rather find 

Strength in what remains behind; 

In the primal sympathy 

Which, ha\ ing been, must ever be; 

In the soothing thoughts that spring 
d human suffering; 

In the faith that look- through d 
In years that bring the philosophic mind. 

And ye fountain-, meadows, hills, and groves, 

Think not "i any severing ol • loves! 

Y'-t in m\ heart "i hearts I feel j ■ might; 

1 only have relinquished one delight 

To live beneath j our more habitual - 

I love the brooks which down their channels fr. i 

Even more than when I tripped lightly as they; 

The innocent brightness of a new-born da) 

I- lovelj yet ; 
The clouds that gather round the setting aun 
l>o take a sober coloring from an eye 
That hath kept watch o'er man'- mortality; 
Another race hath been, ami other palms are won. 
Thanks to the human heart by which we live, 
Thank- to i<- tenderness, ii- joj s, anil fears, 

T e the meanest flower that blows can give 

its that do often Ii'- i leep for tears. 

William \\ ORDSWORTU. 



THE DISCOYEIIKK. 



I HAVE a little kin-man 

Whose earthlj summers arc bur thrr-c. 
\nd yet a vo\ ager N he 
-j- Greater than Drake or Frobisher, 
j Than all the peers together! 
lie i- a brave discoverer, 
And. far beyond the tether 
of them who seek the frozen Pole. 
Has sailed where the noiseless surges roll. 
Aye, he ha- traveled whither 
A winged pilot steered his bark 
Through the portals of the dark. 
Past hoary Mimir's well and tree. 
Across the unknown sea. 



Suddenly in hi- fair young hour. 

Came w ho bore a flower 

And laid it in hi- dimpled hand 

With this command : 

-ith thou art a rover! 
Thou mu-i make a \"\ age fai , 
Sail beneath the evening star, 
And a wondrous land discover." 
— With hi- -weet -mile innocent 

Our little kin-man went. 

Since that time no word 

From the absent ha- been heard; 

Who can tell 
How be fan-, or answer well 



448 



THE KOYAL GALLEEY. 



What the little one has found 
Since he left us, outward-bound! 
Would that he might return ! 
Then should we learn 
From the pricking of his chart 
How the skyey roadways part. 
Hush ! does not the baby this way bring, 
To lay beside this severed curl, 
Some starry offering 
Of chrysolite or pearl? 

Ah, no ! not so ! 
We may follow on his track, 
But he comes not back. 



And yet I dare aver 
He is a brave discoverer 
Of climes his elders do not know. 
He has more learning than appears 
On the scroll of twice three thousand years; 
More than in the groves is taught 
Or from furthest Indies brought ; 
He knows, perchance, how spirits fare — 
What shapes the angels wear, 
What is their guise and speech 
In those lands beyond our reach — 
And his eyes behold 
Things that shall never, never be to mortal hearers told. 
Edmund Clarence Stedman. 



THE FUTURE LIFE. 



|OW shall I know thee in the sphere which keeps 
The disembodied spirits of the dead, 
When all of thee that time could wither sleeps 
And perishes among the dust we tread? 

For I shall feel the sting of ceaseless pain 
If there I meet thy gentle presence not; 

Nor hear the voice I love, nor read again 
In thy serenest eyes the tender thought. 

Will not thy own meek heart demand me there? 

That heart whose fondest throbs to me were given ; 
My name on earth was ever in thy prayer, 

And wilt thou never utter it in heaven? 

In meadows fanned by heaven's life-breathing wind, 
In the resplendence of that glorious sphere, 

And larger movements of the unfettered mind, 
Wilt thou forget the love that joined us here? 

^he love that lived through all the stormy past, 
And meekly with my harsher nature bore, 



And deeper grew, and tenderer to the last, 
Shall it expire with life and be no more? 

A happier lot than mine, and larger light, 
Await thee there ; for thou hast bowed thy will 

In cheerful homage to the rule of right, 
And lovest all, and renderest good for ill. 

For me, the sordid cares in which I dwell 

Shrink and consume my heart, as heat the scroll; 

And wrath hath left its scar — that fire of hell 
Has left its frightful scar upon my soul. 

Yet though thou wear'st the glory of the sky, 
Wilt thou not keep the same beloved name, 

The same fair, thoughtful brow, and gentle eye, 
Lovelier in heaven's sweet climate, yet the same? 

Shalt thou not teach me, in that calmer home, 
The wisdom that I learned so ill in this — 

The wisdom which is love — till I become 
Thy fit companion in that land of bliss? 

William Cullen Bryant. 



THERE IS NO DEATH. 



Ifl^HERE is no death! The stars go down 
gUps To rise upon some fairer shore, 
'ff^ And bright in heaven's jeweled crown 
J4 They shine forevermore. 

There is no death. The dust we tread 
Shall change beneath the summer showers 

To golden grain or luellow fruit 
Or rainbow- tinted flowers. 

The granite rocks disorganize 
To feed the hungry moss they bear; 

The forest leaves drink daily life 
From out the viewless air. 



There is no death; the leaves may fall, 
The flowers may fade and pass away — 

They only wait through wintry hours 
The coming of the May. 

There is no death ! An angel form 
Walks o'er the earth with silent tread; 

He bears our best-loved things away, 
And then we call them "dead." 

He leaves our hearts all desolate — 
He plucks our fairest, sweetest flowers; 

Transplanted into bliss, they now 
Adorn immortal bowers. 



THE BETTEli LAM) 



449 



Thr bird-like voice, whose joyous tones 
Made glad this scene oi Bin and strife, 

Bihgs now in everlasting 
Amid the tree of life. 

• 
And where be sees a smile so i n - i *_r i > t . 

Of hearts too pure for taint and vice, 
He bears II to thai world of liudit. 

TO dwell in Paradise. 



Burn into thai undying life, 

L< ave us bu1 to come _ 
"N\"it ti joy we welcome them — the same 
pi in -iu and pain. 

And ever Dear us. though unseen. 

The dear immortal spirits tread; 
For all the boundles 

1- in. —there are no dead. 

J. L. McCreeby. 



3^Cn(L 



BLESSED A TIF. THEY THAT MOURN.' 



Tl. deem aol they are blesl alone 
Whose lives a peaceful tenor keep; 
The Power who pities man has shown 
A blessing for the eyes thai weep. 

The lighl of smiles shall fill ag iln 
The lids thai overflow n Itfa 

And wearj hours of woe and pain 
Arc promises ol happier years. 

There is a day of sunny real 

For everj dark and troubled oighl ; 

Ami grief maj hide an evening guest, 
lint joj shall come with early light 



And thou, who o'er thy friend's low bier, 

Sheddest tin- bitter drops like rain. 
Hope that a brighter, happier sphere 

. c him to thy ami- again. 

d man'- trusl depart, 
jjb life ii- ■ ommon gifts deny,— 
Though with a pierced and bleeding 
And spurned "i men, he go< - to die. 

For God ii ithi rrowing day 

And aimibered ever] 
And hi - "' bliss shall pay 

11 hi- children suffer here. 

\\ i i.i.i \ .i I i i.i.i.s BRYA&X. 



_^-\>c<L 



THE MARINER'S El MN. 



M"\i II thy hark, mariner! 

Christian, God meed thee! 
Le( 1""-.' the rudder-band — 
1 angels lead thee! 

Sot lh\ -ail- warily. 

Tempests « ill come; 
Men- 1 1 1 > course steadily; 
( in Istian, Bteer homel 

Look to the weather-bow, 

Breakers arc round thee; 
Let fall the plummel now. 

Shallow - may ground thee 
Reef in the foresail, there' 

Hold the helm l'a-l : 
So — let the vessel wear — 

There swept the blast 

•■ Wh.ii of the night, watchman? 
Wnai of the night?" 

••( lloudy— all quiet- 
No land vet — all ".- right" 



vigilant— 

. iic 

A1 an hour when all seemeth 

ins ill-- leak - 
Clean out the hold — 
b 
,iii i!n gold; 

There •] ■ 

Now the ship rights; 
Hurrah! the harbor "- near — 
Lo! the red i I 

uot sail yet 
At inlet or island; 

Straight for the beacon steer, 
hi for the highland; 
Crowd all thy canvas on, 

iam — 
Christian, east anchor now. 
Heaven is thy home; 

Caroline Bowles Southey. 



4 P 



THE KOYAL GALLERY. 



ABIDE WITH US: FOR IT IS TOWARD EVENING. 



fHE tender light is fading where 
We pause and linger still, 
And through the dim and saddened air 
We feel the evening chill. 

Long hast Thou journeyed with us, Lord, 

Ere we thy face did know ; 
Oh, still Thy fellowship afford, 

While dark the shadows grow. 

For passed is many a beauteous field 

Beside our morning road ; 
And many a fount to us is sealed, 

That once so freshly flowed. 

The splendor of the noontide lies 

On other paths than ours; 
The dews that lave yon fragrant skies 

Will not revive our flowers. 

It is not now as in the glow 
Of life's impassioned heat, 



When to the heart there seemed to flow 
All that of earth was sweet. 

Something has faded — something died, 

Without us and within ; 
We more than ever need a guide, 

Blinded and weak with sin. 

The weight is heavy that we bear, 
Our strength more feeble grows; 

Weary with toil, and pain, and care, 
We long for sweet i 



Stay with us, gracious Saviour, stay 
While friends and hopes depart; 

Fainting, on Thee we wish to lay 
The burden of our heart. 

Abide with us, dear Lord, remain 

Our Life, our Truth, our Way, 
So shall our loss be turned to gain — 

Night dawn to endless day. 

Horatio Nelson Powers. 



SHALL WE MEET AGAI1ST ? 



p£N seldom think of the shadow that falls across their ,own path, hiding forever from 
their eyes the traces of the loved ones, whose living smiles were the sunlight of 
their existence. Death is the great antagonist of life, and the cold thought of the 
tomb is the skeleton of all feasts. We do not want to go through the dark valley, 
although its passages may lead to Paradise; and, with Charles Lamb, we do not 
want to lie down in the muddy grave even with kings and princes for our bed-fellows. But 
Hie fiat of nature is inexorable. There is no appeal of relief from the great law which 
dooms us to dust. We flourish and we fade as the leaves of the forest, and the flower that 
blooms and withers in a day has not a frailer hold upon life than the mightiest monarch 
that ever shook the earth with his footsteps. Generations of men appear and vanish as the 
grass, and the countless multitude that throngs the world to-day will to-morrow disappear 
as the footsteps on the shore. In the beautiful drama of Ion, the instinct of immortality, 
so eloquently uttered by the death-devoted Greek, finds a deep response in every thoughful 
soul. When about to yield his young existence as a sacrifice to fate, his beloved Clemanthe 
asks if they shall not meet again, to which he replies: "I have asked that dreadful ques- 
tion of the hills that look eternal — of the streams that flow forever — of the stars among 
whose fields of azure my raised spirit hath walked in glory. All were dumb. But while 
I gaze upon thy face, I feel that there is something in the love that mantles through its 
beauty that cannot wholly perish. We shall meet again, Clemanthe." 

George D. Prentice. 



THE BETTER LAND. 



451 



. - ;. 



HOM E AND HEAVE N . 



. ITU the Bame letter, heaven and hoi 

Hi And thu word- dwell toireihci 



begin, 
•r in the mind; 
; - ; Fur they who would a hum.' in heaven win 
"'£.' Must first a heaven in home begin to find. 
A Be happy here, yet with a humble soul 
A That looks for perfect happiness in heaven; 
1 For what thou hast is earnest oi the whole 
Which to the faithful -hall at last be given. 



As once the patriarch, in a virion b!< seed, 
Saw the swift angels hastening to and fro. 
And ill.- loue spot whereon he lay to rest 
Became to him the gate of heaven below; 

o thee, when life itself is done, 
Thy home on earth and heaven above be 
one. 

Jones Very. 



BEST IS NOT HERE. 



vBTAT 's this vain world to me? 
E Rest is not here; 
1 False are the smiles I see, 
The mirth 1 boar. 
Where is youth's joj Eul glee? 
Where all once dear to me? 
Gone, as the shadows flet — 
Rest i.- not here. 

Why did the morning -bine 

Blithely and fair? 
Why did those tints so line 
Vanish in air? 



Does not the virion say, 
Faint, li •■,. away, 

Whj in this desert stay- 
Dark land ..i care? 

Where souls angelic -oar. 
Thither repair; 

Let Ibi- vain world QO more 

Lull and ensnare. 
That heaven l love so well 
Still in my heart shall dwell; 
All things around me tell 
found there. 



i.Am ( arouse Nature. 



I'KACi;. 



SOLACE, troubled bean! the way »g ool 

fl.av down ib\ burden; -i\ to sorrow . 
Be yon soft azure band serenelj o'i 
The blur, bright border to God's sphi 
peace. 

Peace, troubled heart! the hasty word may tret thee, 
The cruel word may coldlj probe and pi 

The < Shrisl \\ ho suffered, loves thee, never leaves thee, 
He pours His balm upon the fever fli roe. 

Peace, troubled heart! though marred thy best be- 
havior, 

To thy deep longing, thine aspiring cry, 
Listens tb\ Heavenly Kinsman, thy dearSaviour 

Healeth thy life-hurt, wipeth thy tears dry. 

Peace, lonely heart! Bepatient. Thou 'II see, waiting, 

How perfect sympathy and love may meet ; 
Bepatient, praying; all, earth's discord grating, 
com] 



Will melt al last to love divii 



Peace, troubled heart! O coward, weakly shrinking 

"" the chalice! Saints and martj 
The chrism of suffering. Earthward, pooi 
sinking, 
Y.-arn for the heavenly joy, through humau need. 



■ troubled in a j ps ;ill >;i j|j n g 
Through sun and storm, • n to the solemn 

Through summer .-alms, through wintrj tempest 
quailing, 
Thus sailest thou, out to Infinity. 

■ trouble, i l,, terbrei zes, 
Mid Mes of Paradise, in airs ol balm, 

Where cruel « iud or word neV r wounds or freezes, 
gain at last the ever] 

roubled heart ! go out beneath the ether, 
Ri si In the marvelous sunshine of the sky; 

he bees sail and sing in sunny leisure; 
List thi 

Tremble through Nature's voices, every sigh 
Quickens the anthem of her mighti 

- 

trouble,] heart! life's ever-mocking seeming, 

Life's weary dearth, life's a, -bin- sens< ol loss, = 

Are fitful phantoms of its transient dreaming, 

While Faith stands steadfast gazing on the Cross. 

Mart? Clemmer Ames. 



452 



THE 110YAL GALLERY. 



THE DEATH OF THE VIRTUOUS. 



;WEET is the scene when Virtue dies ! 
When sinks a righteous soul to rest, 
'2 How mildly beam the closing eyes, 

How gently heaves the expiring breast! 

So fades a summer cloud away, 
So sinks the gale when storms are o'er, 

So gently shuts the eye of day, 
So dies a wave along the shore. 

Triumphant smiles the victor brow, 
Fanned by some angel's purple wing; — 



-wfi^ZM 



Where is, O Grave! thy victory now? 
And where, insidious Death, thy sting? 

Farewell, conflicting joys and fears, 
Where light and shade alternate dwell! 

How bright the unchanging morn appears; — 
Farewell, inconstant world, farewell! 

Its duty done, — as sinks the day, 
Light from its load the spirit flies; 

While heaven and earth combine to say, 
"Sweet is the scene when Virtue dies!" 

Anna Letitia Barbauld. 



I SHALL BE SATISFIED. 



?OT here ! not here ! not where the sparkling i 
ters 

Fade into mocking sands as we draw near; 
Where in the wilderness each footstep falters- 

I shall be satisfied— but oh! not here. 

Not here! where every dream of bliss deceives us, 
Where the worn spirit never gains its goal; 

Where, haunted ever by the thoughts that grieve u 
Across us floods of bitter memory roll. 

There is a land where every pulse is thrilling 
With rapture earth's sojourners may not know, 

Where heaven's repose the weary heart is stilling, 
And peacefully life's time-tossed currents flow. 

Far out of sight, while yet the flesh enfolds us, 
Lies the fair country where our hearts abide, 



And of its bliss is naught more wondrous told us 
Than these few words—" I shall be satisfied." 

Satisfied! satisfied! the spirit's yearning 
For sweet companionship with kindred minds — 

The silent love that here meets no returning — 
The inspiration which no language finds — 

Shall they be satisfied? the soul's vague longing — 
The aching void which nothing earthly fills? 

Oh, what desires upon my soul are thronging, 
As I look upward to the heavenly hills ! 

Thither my weak and weary steps are tending — 
Saviour and Lord ! with thy frail child abide ! 

Guide me towards home, where, all my wanderir 
ending. 
I then shall see Thee, and "be satisfied." 



THE MOUNTAINS OF LIFE. 



UPlHEEE 'S a laud far away, 'mid the stars, we are 
i|p told, 

A Where they know not the sorrows of time. — 
* Where the pure waters wander through valleys 
of gold. 
And life is a treasure sublime; — 
'Tis the land of our God 'tis the home of the soul, 
Where the ages of splendor eternally roll; 
Where the way-weary traveler reaches his goal, 
On the evergreen Mountains of Life. 

Our gaze cannot soar to that beautiful land. 

But our visions have told of its bliss 
And our souls by the gale of its gardens are 
fanned. 

When we faint in the desert of this; 



And we sometimes have longed for its holy repose, 
When our spirits were torn with temptations and 

woes. 
And we've drank from the tide of the river that flows 
From the evergreen Mountains of Life. 

Oh, the stars never tread the blue heavens at night, 

But we think where the ..ransomed have trod! 
And the day never smiles from his palace of light, 

But we feel the bright smile of our God! 
We are traveling homeward through changes and 

gloom, 
To a kingdom where pleasures unceasingly bloom, 
And our guide is the glory that shines through the 
tomb 
From the evergreen Mountains of Life. 

J. G. Clark. 



THE BETTEB I LND 



IMMORTALITY. 



fll! listen, man! 
A voice within us speaks that startling word: 
"Man, thou shall never dit ' 
Hymn it unto our souls; according harps, 
15y angel angers touched, when the mild stars 
Of morning sang together, Bound forth -till 

The -"Mi: u| our greal i rtalitj : 

Thick clustering orbs, and this our fair domain, 
The tall, dark 1 n< >n 1 1 1 : t i r ■ ~ . and the deep-ton 
Join in this solemn, universal song, 
Oh! listen, ye, our spirits; drink il in 
From all the air. Tis in the ^r.-nt !■■ moonlight; 



'Tis iloating 'mid Day"- setting glories; Xight, 
Wranped in her sahl ■ robe, « itb silent step 
Comes t" our bed, aud breathes it in our ears: 
Night, and the dawn, bright daj . and thoughtful eve, 
All lime, all bounds, the Limitless expanse, 
-i m\ stic instrument, are tou< bed 
By an unseen Ih ing Hand, and const ious t horde 
Quiver with joy in ilii- greal jubilee. 
The dying bear il ; and, as sounds of earth 
Grow dull and distant, wake their passing souls 
To mingle in this beavenl} harmony. 

Rk hard Henri Dana. 



BETTER WAY 



:D didsl thou love the race thai loved not thee? 

Ami didsl tl take I aven a human brow ? 

Dosl plead with man's voice by the marvelous 

Art thon his kin-man now? 

O God, <) kin-man loved, but not e igh! 

man. with eyes maji stic after death, 
Who-,' feel have toiled along our pathwaj - 

Whose Lips dniwu human breath! 

By that one likeness « blch is - and thine, 

hat one nature which doth hold us kin. 
By that high heaven where sinless, thou dosl shine, 
To draw us sinners in, 

By thy last Bilence in the judgment-hall. 
By long foreknowledge ol the dcadlj l 
By darkness, by the wormwood and the gall, 

1 pray Thee visil me. 

Come, iest this hearl should, cold and casl away, 
Die ere the guesl adored she entertained— 

Lest eyes which never saw Thine earthly day, 
should miss Thy heavenly reign. 

Come, weary-eyed from seeking in the nighl 
Thy wanderers strayed upon the pathless wold. 



\vii... wounded, dying, cry to Thee for Light, 
aiiot Bnd their told. 

And deign, watcher with the sleepless hrow, 

Pathetic in it- yearning — deign reply; 
Is there, jhl thai such - 

je from such as I ? 

Are there no : I ■ pathway thrust, 

Are there no thorn- thai c imp iss il ab 
Nor any stones thai Thou will deign to trust 
gather out? 

O. if Thou wilt, an i il such bliss might be, 

ibt, regret, delay; 
Let my Lost pathwaj go whal aileth me? 
There is a better way. 

What though unmarked the happy workman toil, 
And break, unthanked of man. the 3tubbi LI 

i L is the soil. 

D ire the hills ol 

I tter in its place the lowliest bird 

Should sim: arighl to Him the lowliesl song, 

Than that a seraph strayed should take the word 
And - rong. 

tl an Lngelow. 



TTTE WAY, THE TRUTH, AXD THE LIFE. 



f\ Tlior irn i men, 

L/ > Who once appeared in hunihlesl guise below. 

to rebuke, to break the captive's chain. 
J-. And call thy brethren forth from want and 



o thee! thy truth 
Which guides the nation! 



s still the I ighl 
groping • m then 



Stumbling ami falling in dis is 

N iopi ig ever tor the perfect day. 

Y - thou art -rill the Life, thou art the Way 

The holiest know; Light, Life, the Way of heaven! 
And thej who dearesl hope and deepest pray, 
Toil bj the Light, Life. Way, which thou hast 
given 

Theodore Parker. 



454 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



BEST. 



LAY me down to sleep, 

With little cave 
Whether my waking find 

Me here, or there. 

A howiug, burdened head 
That only asks to rest, 

Unquestioning, upon 
A loving breast. 

My good right hand forgets 

Its cunning now ; 
To march the weary march 

I know not how. 



I am not eager, bold, 

Nor strong, — all that is past; 
I am ready not to do, 

At last, at last. 

My half-day's work is done, 

And this is all my part, — 
I give a patient God 

My patient heart; 

And grasp his banner still, 
Though all the blue be dim ; 

These stripes as well as stars 
Lead after him. 

May Woolsey 1 low land. 



.<>.-3-J>-. 



ONLY WAITING. 



A very old man in an alms-house was asked what he was do 



He replied, " Only waiting.' 



ILY waiting till the shadows 

Are a little longer grown ; 
Only waiting till the glimmer 

Of the day's last beam is flown; 
Till the night of earth is faded 

From the heart once full of day ; 
Till the dawn of heaven is breaking 

Through the twilight soft and gray. 

Only waiting till the reapers 

Have the last sheaf gathered home ; 
For the summer-time is faded, 

And the autumn winds have come. 
Quickly, reapers, gather quickly 

The last ripe hours of my heart, 
For the bloom of life is withered, 

And I hasten to depart. 



Only waiting till the angels 

Open wide the mystic gate, 
At whose feet I long have lingered, 

Weary, poor and desolate. 
Even now I hear the footsteps, 

And their voices far away; 
If they call me, I am waiting, 

Only waiting to obey. 

Only waiting till the shadows 

Are a little longer grown; 
Only waiting till the glimmer 

Of the day's last beam is flown ; 
Then from out the gathered darkness, 

Holy, deathless stars shall rise. 
By whose light my soul shall gladly 

Tread its pathway to the skies. 

Frances Laughton Mace, 



LIFE. 



fIFE ! I know not what thou art, 
But know that thou aud I must part; 
And when, or how, or where we met, 
I own to me "s a secret yet. 
But this I know : when thou art fled, 
Where'er they lay these limbs, this head. 
No clod so valueless shall be 
As all that then remains of me. 
O, whither, whither dost thou fly? 
Where bend unseen thy trackless course? 
And, in this strange divorce, 
Ah, tell where I must seek this compound, I i 

To the vast ocean of empyreal flame, 
From whence thy essence came, 
Dost thou thy flight pursue, when freed 
From matter's base encumbering weed? 



Or dost thou, hid from sight. 

Wait, like some spell-bound knight, 

Through blank, oblivious years the appointed hour 

To break thy trance and reassume thy power? 

Yet canst thou, without thought or feeling be? 

O, say, what art thou, when no more thou 'rt thee? 

Life ! we've been long together 

Through pleasant and through cloudy weather; 

'T is hard to part when friends are dear,— 

Perhaps 't will cost a sigh, a tear; 

Then steal away, give little warning, 
Choose thine own time ; 
Say not Good Night, — but in some brighter clime 

Bid me Good Morning. 

Anna Letitia Barbauld. 



THE I'.l.l 111: l. ami. 



4o5 



TELL ME, YE WINGED TTIXDP. 






:i.I. me, ye winge'd winds. 

That round nn pathway roar, 
Do ye nut know some spot 

Where mortals wee] oore? 

Some lone and pleasanl dell, 

Some valley in the west, 
Where, free from toil and pain. 
The weary soul may rest? 
The loud wind dwindled to a w bisper low. 
And Bighed i"i- pity as ii answered,—" No." 

'1'cll me thou might} deep, 

Whose billows round nn- play, 
Enow 'si thou some favored spot, 

Some island far away. 
When- weary man maj find 

The bliss for which he slghB,— 
Where sorrow never lives, 
And friendship never dies? 
The loud waves, rolling in perpetual flow, 
Stopped for a while, and sighed o. answer,—" No. 1 



Ami Hi. .11. serenes! moon, 

Thai, w ilh BUCh lOVelj lace. 

Dost look npon the earth, 
Asleep in night's embrace; 

Tcii me. in all thy round 

Bast thou m.i -.-en some spot 
When- miserable man 
Mm find a happier lot? 
Behind a cloud the moon withdrew in woe. 
Ami a voice, sweet but sad, responded,—" No." 

Tcii me. m\ secret bouI, 

o. tcii me. Hope and Faith, 
I- there no resting-place 

l rom Borrow . -in. and death? 
I- there no happy spot 

\\ here mortals maj !"■ hlest, 
Where griel maj find a balm, 

And w eariness a rest ? 
Faith. Hope, and Love, best boons to mortal- given, 
Waved their bright wings, and whispered,—" Yes, in 
heaven! 11 

I IIAKL1.- MACKA1. 



THE DYING ( 1 1 RISTIAN To HIS SOUL 



IT \l. spark oi heavenly flame, 
Quit, oh, quit this mortal frame! 
Trembling, hoping, lingering, dying 

oh the pain, the i.ii-- ,,f dying! 
Cease, fond Nature, cease thy -trite. 
And let me languish into life! 

Hark! they whisper; angels say, 

Sister spirit, . le away. 

What i- this ah-. uli- me quite, 

Steals my senses, shuts mj sight, 



Drown- my -piiii. draw- mj breath? 
Tell me. my -eul ! can this be death] 

The world recedes; n disappears; 

Heaven opens "li m\ -yc-: ,, 

With id- seraphii 

Lend, lend your wings! [mount! lily! 
! where i- thj victory? 
O death! where i- thy sting? 

\t i \am>ki; Pope. 



DYING HYMN. 



ABTH, with ii- dark and dreadful ills 
Recedes and fades away: 
Lift up your heads, ye heavenly bills 
Ye gates "f death, give way! 

My soul i> full of whispered song,— 

My blindness i- my sight ; 
TIh- shadows thai I feared so long 

Are full of life ami light. 

The while my pulses fainter beat, 
My faith doth so abound, 



■ow firm beneath mj 
The green, immortal ground. 

That faith to me a courage gives, 

Low as the grave to go; 
I know that my Redeemer lives,— 

That I shall live I know. 

The palace walls I aim 

Where dwells my Lord and King! 
O grave, where is thy victory? 

death, where is thj sting? 



Alice Cart. 



456 



THE ROYAL GALLERY- 



HEAVEN. 



tEYOND these chilling winds and gloomy skies, 
Beyond death's cloudy portal, 
There is a land where beauty never dies — 
Where love becomes immortal. 

A land whose life is never dimmed by shade, 

Whose fields are ever vernal : 
Where nothing beautiful can ever fade, 

But blooms for aye eternal. 

We may not know how sweet its balmy air, 

How bright and fair its flowers; 
We may not hear the songs that echo there 

Through those enchanted bowers. 

The city's shining towers we may not see 
With our dim earthly vision, 



For Death, the silent warder, keeps the key 
That opes the gates elysian. 

But sometimes, when adown the western sky 

A fiery sunset lingers, 
Its golden gates swing inward noiselessly, 

Unlocked by unseen fingers. 

And while they stand a moment half ajar, 

Gleams from the inner glory 
Stream brightly through the azure vault afar, 

And half reveal the story. 

O laud unknown ! O land of love divine ! 

Father, all-wise, eternal, 
Oh, guide these wandering, way-worn feet of mine 

Into those pastures vernal ! 

Nancv Priest Wakefield. 



HEAVEN OUR HOME. 

||T cannot be that earth is man's only abiding-place. It cannot be that our life is 
||1 a bubble, cast up by the ocean of eternity, to float another moment upon its 
M surface, and then sink into nothingness and darkness forever. Else why is it that 

the high and glorious aspirations which leap like angels from the temples of 
our hearts, are forever wandering abroad, unsatisfied? Why is it that the rainbow and 
the cloud come over us with a beauty that is not of earth, and then pass off and leave 
us to muse on their faded loveliness? Why is it that the stars which hold their festival 
around the midnight throne are set above the grasp of our limited faculties, and are 
forever mocking us with their unapproachable glory? Finally, why is it that bright forms 
of human beauty are presented to the view, and then taken from us, leaving the thousand 
streams of the affections to flow back in an Alpine torrrent upon our hearts? 

We are born for a higher destiny than that of earth. There is a realm where 
the rainbow never fades ; where the stars will be spread out before us like the islands 
that slumber on the ocean ; and where the beautiful beings that here pass before us 
like visions will stay in our presence forever ! 

George D. Prentice. 






UP-HILL. 



)ES the road wind up-hill all the way? 

Yes, to the very end. 
Will the day's journey take the whole long day? 

From morn to night, my friend. 

But is there for the night a resting-place? 

JL roof for whe?i t7ie slow dark hours be- 
gin. 
May not the darkness hide it from my face? 

You cannot miss that inn. 



Shall I meet other wayfarers at night? 

Those who have (/one before. 
Then must I knock, or call when just in sight? 

They will not keep you standing at that 
door. 

Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak? 

Of labor you shall find the sum. 
Will there be beds for me and all who seek? 

Tea, beds for all who come. 

Christina G. Rossetti. 



Ill K BETTER LAM). 



457 



IN HARBOR. 



THINK it i- over, over— 

I think it i- over at last : 
Voices of fueman and lover, 

The sweet and the bitter bave parsed; 
Idle, like a tempesl oi ocean, 

Hath blown its ultimate blast 
There '- but a fainl Bobbing seaward, 
While the calm ol the tide deepens leeward, 
And behold! like the welcoming quiver 
Oi heart-pulses throbbed through the river, 
I hose lights in the Harbor :u last— 

1" 1 1 1 - heavenly Harbor at last 

I (eel it is over, over — 

The winds and the water surcease; 
ilow few were the daj - oi the Rover 

That Bmiled in the beauty "i peace I 
And distant and dim was the omen 

That hinted redress or release, 
From the ravage "t 1 i i « ■ and it- riot, 



What marvel I yearn for the quiet 

Which bides in this Harbor at last? 
For the li^hi- \\ ith their welcoming quiver, 
That throb through the sacrificed river 
\\ hich girdles die Harbor at last- 
That heavenly Harbor at last. 

I know it is over, over— 

I know it i- over al last ; 
Down sail, the sheathed anchor uncover, 

For the stress ol the voyage has p issed; 
Life, like the tempesl ol '"-can. 

Hath outblown it- ultimate blast, 
There '- bul a fainl sobbing seaward, 
While the calm oi the tide deepens leeward, 
And behold! like the welcoming quiver, 
Ui heart-pulses throbbed through the river, 

l hose lights in the Harbor at last— 

1 hi beaveulj Harbor al lasl ! 

1'ali. Hamilton Haune. 



TWO WORLDS. 



pjJYWO world- then- are. To one oureyw 
fk^> Who-e mau'ie joy- we -hall not Bee again; 
yS? Bright haze ol morningveils Its glimmering 
i shore. 

y Ah, truly breathed we there 

Intoxicating air — 
Glad were our heart- in that sweet realm of 
Nevermore. 

The lover there drank her delicious breath 
Whose love has yielded since to change or death: 
The mother kissed her child, whose days are o'er. 
Alas! too -""ii have fled 
The irreclaimable dead : 
We see them — visions strange — amid the 
Nevermore. 

The merrysome maiden that used there to sing — 
The brown, brown hair that once was wont to cling 
To temple- long clay-cold : to the very core 
They strike our weary heart-. 
.\- -nine vexed memory starts 
From that long-laded land —the realm of 
Nevermore. 

Ir i- perpetual summer there. But here 
Badly may we remember rivers clear, 

Aud harebell- quivering "ii the meadow-floor. 

For brighter bells and bluer, 

For tenderer heart- and truer, 
People that happy land — the realm of 
Nevermore. 



Upon the frontier ol this Bhadowy land 
We plhji Ims ol eternal sorrow stand : 
What realm lies forward, with Its happier store 
ii and deep, 
Of vallej - bushed in sleep, 

And lakes re peaceful? "Ii- the land of 

nore. 

Very far off it- marble cities seem — 
Very far off— bej I our sensual dream- 
Its \\ I-. unruffled by the wild wind'- roar; 

5 i : dot - the turbulent surge 
ii vi on its very verge. 
One motm nl —and we l ireat he within the 
Evermore. 

They whom we loved and lost so long ago 
Dwell in those cities, far from mortal woe — 

Haunt those fresh w Hands, whence sweet carol* 

Ings soar. 
Eh rnal peace have they; 
God wipes their tear- away; 
They drink that river of life which flows from 
re. 

Thither we hasten through these region- dim, 
But. 1". the wide wings of the Seraphim 
Shine in the sunset! On that joyous shore 
Our lightened hearts shall know 
The life of long ago: 
The sorrow-burdened past shall fade for 
Evermore. 

Mortimer Collins. 



458 



THE ROYAL GALLEEY. 



WHEN. 



|pF I were told that I must die to-morrow, 
Hi That the next sun 

T Which sinks would bear me past all fear and 
I sorrow 

For any one, 
All the fight fought, all the short journey through, 
What should I do? 

I do not think that I should shrink or falter. 

But just go on, 
Doing my work, nor change nor seek to alter 

Aught that is gone ; 
But rise and move and love and smile and pray 

For one more day. 

And, lying down at night for a last sleeping, 

Say in that ear 
Which hearkens ever: " Lord, within thy keeping 

How should I fear? 
And when to-morrow brings thee nearer still, 

Do thou thy will." 

I might not sleep for awe; but peaceful, tender, 

My soul would lie 
All the night long; and when the morning splendor 

Flushed o'er the sky, 
I think that I could smile — could calmly say, 

"It is His day." 

But if a wondrous hand from the blue yonder 

Held out a scroll 
On which my life was writ, and I with wonder 

Beheld unroll 



To a long century's end its mystic clew, 
What should I do? 

What could I do, O blessed Guide and Master, 

Other than this : 
Still to go on as now, not slower, faster, 

Nor fear to miss 
The road, although so very loug it be, 

While led by Thee? 

Step after step, feeling thee close beside me, 

Although unseen, 
Thro' thorns, thro' flowers, whether the tempest hide 
thee 

Or heavens serene, 
Assured thy faithfulness cannot betray, 

Thy love decay. 

I may not know; my God, no hand revealeth 

Thy counsels wise ; 
Along the path a deepening shadow stealeth, 

No voice replies 
To all my questioning thought, the time to tell; 

And it is well. 

Let me keep on, abiding and unf earing 

Thy will always, 
Through a long century's ripening fruition 

Or a short day's ; 
Thou canst not come too soon; and I can wait 

If thou come late. 

Sarah Woolset (Susan Coolidge). 



-WZgzgV!^-*- 



ABIDE WITH ME. 



BIDE with me! fast falls the eventide; 
iBsl The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide! 
T^fZ When other helpers fail, and comf orts flee, 
jj Help of the helpless, oh, abide with me! 

Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day; 
Earth's joys grow dim; its glories pass away; 
Change and decay in all around I see; 
O Thou who changest not, abide with me ! 

Not a brief glance I beg, a passing word; 
But as thou dwell'st with thy disciples, Lord, 
Familiar, condescending, patient, free, 
Come, not to sojourn, but abide, with me! 

Come, not in terrors, as the King of Kings, 
But kind and good, with healing in thy wings; 
Tears for all woes, a heart for every plea; 
Come, Friend of sinners, and thus bide with me! 



Thou on my head in early youth didst smile; 
And, though rebellious and perverse meanwhile, 
Thou hast not left me, oft as I left thee ; 
On to the close, O Lord, abide with me ! 

I need thy presence every passing hour; 
What but thy grace can foil the tempter's power? 
Who like thyself my guide and stay can be? 
Througheloud and sunshine, oh, abide with me! 

I fear no foe, with thee at hand to bless ; 
His have no weight, and tears no bitterness; 
Where is Death's sting? where, Grave, thy victory? 
I triumph still, if thou abide with me ! 

Hold Thou thy cross before my closing eyes ! 
Shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies! 
Heaven's morning breaks, and Earth's vain shadows 

flee; 
In Life and Death, O Lord, abide with me ! 

Henry Francis Lyte. 



TlfF. BETTER LAND. 



459 



"I TOO." 



spread the sail for purple islands, 

«** Ear in undi-eovend tropic -im-: 

Lei ustrack the glimmering arctic highlands, 
Win-re iki breath "i nun. do leal of trees 
E'er lia- lived." So -peak- the elders, telling 
By the hearth, their li-t "i fancies through, 
Heedless of the child whose hearl is swelling 
Till he cries at last, •■ I too! I too! " 

And I, too, o my Father! Tie mi bas( made me — 

1 have life, and life musl have its waj ; 
Why should love and gladness be gainsaid me! 

Why should shadou - cloud mj little daj ? 
Naked souls weigh in thy balance even 

Soul- ol kings are worth qo more than mine; 
Why are gifts e'er t y brother given, 

While my hearl and 1 together pine? 

Meanest things thai breathe have, \\ 1 1 1 1 qo asking, 

Fullest joys: the oue-day's butterflj 
Finds its rose, and. in the sunshine basking, 

lias the whole oi life ere it doth die. 



Dove, do sorrow <>n thy heart i- preying; 

With thy mil contentment thou dos 
Yet must man cry for a dove'- life, saj ing, 

■• Blake me as a dove — I too! I too! " 

Nay, for something moves within— a spirit 

Rises in hi- breast, be feels it stir; 
Soul- joy s greater than the doves inherit 

sie.uid be his to feel; yet why defer 
To a next world's veiled and far to-morrow 

All his longings for a present bliss? 
stole- ol faith are hard; oh, could be borrow, 

From that world's great stores one taste tor this! 

Hungrj stands he by his empty table, 
Thirsty waits beside his empty well 

Nor u iih all hi- Btrivlng, i-'li 

< mm- full joy t" catch where hundreds swell 
In hi- neighbor's bosom ; see, he sifteth 

one.- again hi- poor lite through and lli 
Finds but ashes : i- it strange he lifteth 

Up his cry, •• <> Lord! I too: i too! " 

CONSTANI l. It NIMORE WOOLSOK 




NO SOEEOAV THEEE. 

[S earthly life has been fitly characterized a- a pilgrimage through a vale of 
tears. In the language <>t' poetry, man himself ha- been called a pendulum 
betwixt a smile and a tear. Everything in tlii- world i- characterized by 
imperfection. The best people have many fault-. The clearest mind only 
Bees through a glass darkly. The puresl hearl i- ool withoul Bpot. All the inter- 
course of society, all the transactions of business, all out' estimates of human 
conduct and motive must he based upon the -ad assumption that we cannot wholly 
trust either ourselves or our fellow-men. Everj hearl ha- it- grief, every house 
has its skeleton, every character i< marred with weakness and imperfection. And 
all these aimless conflicts of out- mind-, and unanswered longings of our hearts, 
should lead its to rejoice the more in the divine assurance that a time i- <<unin< 
when night shall melt into noon, and the mystery -hall he clothed with glory. 

Daniel March. 



TTTTS \TOTvLD IS ALL A FLEETING STTOAV 



:IIIS world Is all a fleeting -how. 
^ For man's illusion given ; 

The -miles of joy, the tears of woe. 
Deceitful shine, deceitful flow,— 
There 's nothing true but heaven! 

And fal-e the light on glory's plume. 
A- fading hue- of ev< n : 

Ami love, and hope, and beauty'- bloom 



Are blossoms gathered for the tomb,— 
There "s nothing bright but heaven! 

Poor wanderers of a stormy day. 

From wave to wave we 're driven, 
Ami fancy's flash and reason's ray 
Serve but to light the troubled way. — 

There 's nothing calm but heaven! 

Thomas Moore. 



460 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



THE OTHER WORLD. 



1§T lies around us like a cloud — 
W» A world we do not see ; 
T Yet the sweet closing of an eye 
J May bring us there to be. 

1 Its gentle breezes fan our cheek ; 
Amid our worldly cares 
Its gentle voices whisper love, 
And mingle with our prayers. 

vveet hearts around us throb and beat, 
Sweet helping hands are stirred, 
And palpitates the veil between 
With breathings almost heard. 

The silence — awful, sweet, and calm — 
They have no power to break ; 

For mortal words are not for them 
To utter or partake. 

So thin, so soft, so sweet they glide, 
So near to press they seem, — 

They seem to lull us to our rest, 
And melt into our dream. 



And in the hush of rest they bring 

'Tis easy now to sec 
How lovely and how sweet a pass 

The hour of death may be ! 

To close the eye and close the car, 

Rapt in a trance of bliss, 
And gently dream in loving arms 

To swoon to that — from this. 

Scarce knowing if we wake or sleep, 

Scarce asking where we are, 
To feel all evil sink away, 

All sorrow and all care. 

Sweet souls around us ! watch us still, 

P. ess nearer to our side, 
Into our thoughts, into our prayers, 

With gentle helpings glide. 

Let death between us be as naught, 

A dried and vanished stream ; 
Your joy be the reality, 

Our suffering life the dream. 

Harriet Beecher Stowe. 



A BETTER WORLD. 



CYOND the farthest glimmering star 
That twinkles in the arch above, 
There is a world of truth and love 
J>1 Which earth's vile passions never mar. 

Oh! could I snatch the eagle's plumes 
And soar to that bright world above, 



Which God's own holy light illumes 
With glories of eternal day. 

How gladly every lingering tie 

That binds me down to earth I 'd sever, 

And leave for that blest home on high 
This hollow-hearted world forever! 

George D. Prentice. 



^ 



MINISTRY OF ANGELS. 



*ND is there care in heaven? And is there love 
In heavenly spirits to these creatures base, 
' That may compassion of their evils move? 
There is : — else much more wretched were the 
case 
Of men than beasts : but O, the exceeding grace 
Of Highest God ! that loves his creatures so. 
And all his works with mercy doth embrace, 
That blessed angels he sends to and fro, 
To serve to wicked man, to serve his wicked foe! 



How oft do they their silver bowers leave, 
To come to succour us that succour want! 
How oft do they with golden pinions cleave 
The flitting skies, like flying pursuivant, 
Against fowle feends to ayd us militant! 
They for us fight, they watch, and dewly ward, 
And their bright squadrons round about us plant; 
And all for love, and nothing for reward; 
Oh, why should heavenly God to men have such 
regard ! 

Edmund Spenser. 



ERNITY will be one glorious morning, with the sun 
*3p higher; one blessed spring-time, and yet richer summer - 
but every flower the bud of a lovelier. 



ever climbing higher and 
—every plant in full flower, 



T1IK BETTER LAND. 



491 



FATHER, TAKE MY HAND. 



way is dark, my Father! Cloud on cloud 
Is gathering thickly o'er my bead, and loud 
The thunders roar above me. Bee, 1 stand 
Like ono bewildered ! Father, take m) hand, 
And through the gloom 
Lead saferj borne 
Thy Child! 

The day goes fast, my Father! and the night 
la drawing dark! j down. My faithless sight 
Seen ghostly visions. Fears, a spectral baud, 
Encompass me. Father, take my baud. 

And from the aighl 

Lead up to light 
Thy child! 

Tin- way is long, my Father! and my soul 
Longs for the rest and quiet ol the goal: 
While yet I journej through tine -weary land. 
Keep me from wandering. Father, take my baud; 

Quickly and Btraighl 

Lead to heaven's ^ate 
Thy child! 



3^sc~^L 



The path i- rough, my Father! Many a thorn 
Bas pierced me; and my weary feci, all torn 
And bleeding, mark the way. Yet thy command 
Bids me press forward. Father, take my hand; 

Then, safe and blest, 

Lead up t" rest 
Thy child! 

The throng is great, my Father! Many a doubt 
And fear and darner compass me about; 
And foes oppress me sore, l cannot stand 
Or go alone. Father! take my band, 

And through the throng 

Lead safe along 
Tin child! 

The cross Is heavy . Father! I have borne 
Ii long, and -till do bear it. Let my worn 
And fainting Bpirit ri-'- to that blest land 
When- crowns are given. Father, take mj baud; 

And reaching down 

Lead to the crown 
Tin child! 

llEHKY X. COBB. 



RIPE (.KAI.V 



& 



STrLL, white face of perfect peace, 
Untouched by passion, freed from pain. — 

lie who ordained that work should Cease 

Took to Himself the ripened grain. 

O noble face! your beauty bears 
The glory that is wrung from pain. — 



The high, celestial beauty wears 
Of finished work, oi ripened grain. 

Of human care you left no trace. 
No lightest trace ol grief or pain, 

On earth an empty form and face — 
In Heaven -lands the ripened grain. 

Dora Read Goodale. 



NEARER LLOME. 



sweetly solemn thought 

T Comes to me o'er and o'er: 
I'm nearer home to-daj 
Than I ever have- been before. 

Nearer my Father's house. 
Where the many mansions be; 

Nearer the grearf white throne. 
Nearer the crystal sea; 

Nearer Lhe bound of life, 

When 1 we lay our burdens down; 
Nearer leaving the cross, 
Nearer gaining the crown! 

But lying darkly between, 

\\ indiug down through the night. 



I- the silent, unknown -tream, 
That leads at last to the light. 

Closer and closer my steps 

Come to the dread abysm ; 
Closer Death to my lips 

Presses the awful chrism. 

Oh. if my mortal feel 

Have almost gained the brink — 
If it be I am nearer home 

Even to-day than I think, — 

Father, perfect my trust, 

Let my spirit feel in death, 
That lea- feet are thinly set 

Ou the Rock of a Living Faith! 

Piicebe Cart. 



462 



THE KOYAL GALLEKY. 



THE PILLAR OF THE CLOUD. 



fEAD kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom, 
Lead thou me on ! 
The night is dark, and I am far from home, — 
Lead thou me on ! 
Keep thou my feet; I do not ask to see 
The distant scene, — one step 's enough for me. 

I was not ever thus, nor prayed that thou 

Shouldst lead me on : 
I loved to choose and see my path, but now 

Lead thou me on ! 



I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears, 
Pride ruled my will: remember not past 
years. 

So long thy power hath blessed me, sure it still 

Will lead me on ; 
O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till 

The night is gone ; 
And with the morn those angel faces smile 
Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile. 
John Henry Newman. 



><r^§_ 



HEREAFTER. 



•OVE, when all the years are silent, vanished On the violet's purple bosom, I the sheen, but jon the 
quite and laid to rest, blossom, 

When you and I are sleeping, folded breathless Stream on sunset winds, and be the haze with which 
ii. breast to breast, some hill is wet? 

When no morrow is before us, and the long grass 

tosses o'er us, Or, beloved — if ascending — when we have endowed 
And our grave remains forgotten, or by alien footsteps the world 

pressed— With the best bloom of our being, whither will our 

way be whirled, 

Still that love of ours will linger, that great love en- Through what vast and starry spaces, toward what 

rich the earth, awful, holy places, 

Sunshine in the heavenly azure, breezes blowing With a white light on our faces, spirit over spirit 

joyous mirth; furled? 
Fragrance fanning off from flowers, melody 01 sum- 
mer showers, Only this our yearning answers : wher^ so'er that way 
Sparkle of the spicy wood-fires round the happy defile, 

autumn hearth. Not a film shall part us through the aeons of that 

mighty while, 

That's our love. But you and I, dear— shall we linger In the fair eternal weather, even as phantoms still 

with it yet, together, 

Mingled in one dew-drop, tangled in one sunbeam's Floating, floating, one forever, in the light of God's 
golden net — great smile. 

Harriet Frescott Sroeford. 



.zz^BK 



THE ETERNAL REST. 



«HEN I bethink me on that speech whyleare 
Of Mutability, and well it way, 
Me seemes. that though she all unworthy were 
Of the heav'ns rule, yet, very sooth to say, 
In all things else she bears the greatest sway; 
Which makes me loath this state of life so tickle, 
And love of things so vaine to cast away ; 
Whose fiowring pride, so fading and so fickle, 
Short Time shall soon cut down with his consuming 
sickle. 



Then gin I thinke on that which Nature sayd, 
Of that same time when no more change shall be, 
But steadfast rest of all things, firmely stayd 
Upon the pillours of Eternity, 
That is contrayr to Mutabilitie ; 
For all that moveth doth in change delight, 
But thenceforth all shall rest eternally 
With him that is the God of Sabaoth hight; 
O thou great Sabaoth God, Grant me that Sabbath'a 
sight! 

Edmund Spenser. 



THE BETTEH LAND. 



463 



I WOULD NOT LITE A LAVA V. 



|y WOULD tmt live ahvav: I a.-k Iml In stay 
Ife WIktc -tnini alter -inrin rises dark n'er the way; 
w lie. seeking for rest, I but hover around 
| Like the patriarch's bird, and do resting is found ; 
When- Hope, when she paints her gay bow in the 
air, 
Leave- hei brilliance to fade In the night of de-pair. 
And Joj '- fleeting angel ne'ei Bheds a glad ray. 
Save the gleam oi the plumage thai hear- him away. 

I would urn live alway, thus fettered by .-in. 
Temptation without, and corruption within; 
In a moment of strength il I sever the chain, 

ne victory's mine ere I'm captive again. 
E'en the rapture of pardon is mingled with fears, 
And the cup of thanksgiving with penitent tears. 
The festival trump calls for jubilanl songs, 
But my spirit her own miserere prolongs. 

1 would nnt live ahva} i no, welcome the tomb; 
Immortality's lamp burns there bright 'mid the gloom. 
There, too, Is the pillow where Christ bowed his 

head — 

0, -nil be my slumbers on that holy bed: 



And then the glad morn soon to follow that night, 

When the sunri i glory shall bursl on my sight, 

And the lull matin-song, as the sleepers arise, 

To shout in the morning, shall peal through the -kies. 

Who, who would live alway. awaj from his God, 
Awaj from yon heaven, that blissful abode, 
w here rivers of pleasure flow o'er the bright plains, 
And the noontide of glorj eternallj reigns; 
Where the saints of all ages in harnionj meet. 
Their Sa\ iour and brethren transported to greet, 
While the anthems of rapture unceasingly roll, 
And the smile ol the Lord i- the feast of the soul? 



That heavenly music! what 
The notes of the hi 



hear? 
rpers ring sweet on my ear. 
And see sofl unfolding those portals oi gold, 
Tie- King all arrayed in his beauty behold! 
u give me, give me the « Ings oi a dove! 
Let me hasten mj flighl to those mansions above, 
Aj . 'tis imu thai m\ -..ui on -w in pinions would soar, 
And in ecstacj bid earth adieu evermore. 



William Augustus Muhlenberg. 



■: -:-.- : • 



THE REST OF THE SOUL. 



£TS that hour which of all the twenty-four is mosl emhlematical of heaven and 

j*s sujr.ir«->tivr of iv|H,-r, ill,, eventide, m which instinctively [saac went into the 
</•: »»'1«1> «" meditate — when the work of the day i- do M e, when the mind has 
ceased its ten-ion, when the passions are lulled to r.-t in spite of themselves, 
by the spell of the quiet Btarlil sky— il is then, amidsl the silence of the lull of 
all the lower part- of our nature, that the -onl comes forth to do it- work. Then 
the peculiar, strange work of the soul, which the intellecl cannot do, meditation 
begins; awe and worship and wonder are in full exercise; and love begins then 
it- purest form of mystic adoration, and pervasive and undefined tenderness, separate 
from all that is coarse and earthly, swelling as if it would embrace the All in its 
desire to Lies-, and lose itself in the sea of the love of God. This i, the rest of 
the -onl— the exercise and play of all the nobler powers. 

F. W. Robertson. 



THE ETERNAL HOME. 



[ELE seas are quiet when the winds give o'er; 
So calm are we when passions are no more. 
For then we know how vain it was to boast 
of fleeting thing-, too certain to be lost. 
Clouds of affection from our younger eyes 
Conceal that emptiness which age descries. 



The soul's dark cottage, battered and decayed, 
Lets in new light through chinks that time has mad< 
Stronger by weakness, wiser men become, 
A- tiny draw near to their eternal home. 
Leaving the old. both worlds at once they view 
That stand upon the threshold of the new. 

Edmund Wallek, 



464 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



" FOLLOW ME." 

EHE shadow of the mountain falls athwart the So this dreamy life is passing — and we move amidst 

lowly plain, its maze, 

And the shadow of the cloudlet hangs above And we grope along together, half in darkness, half 

the mountain's head : in light ; 

And the highest hearts and lowest wear the And our hearts are often burdened with the mysteries 

shadow of some pain, of our ways, 

And the smile has scarcely flitted ere the Which are never all in shadow, and are never wholly 

anguished tear is shed. bright. 

For no eyes have there been ever without a weary And our dim eyes ask a beacon, and our weary feet a 

tear, guide, 

And those lips cannot be human which have never And our hearts of all life's mysteries seek the meaning 

heaved a sigh ; and the key; 

For without the dreary winter there has never been a And a cross gleams o'er our pathway, on it hangs the 

year, Crucified, 

And the tempests hide their terrors in the calmest And He answers all our yearnings by the whisper,. 

summer sky. "Follow Me." 

Abram T. Ryan. 

o<=o<=#S><*<o 

ALL BEFORE. 



HEARTS that never cease to yearn : 
O brimming tears that ne'er are dried ! 

The dead, though they depart, return 
As though they had not died ! 

The living are the only dead ; 

The dead live — nevermore to die ! 
And often when we mourn them fled, 

They never were so nigh ! 

And though they lie beneath the waves, 
Or sleep within the churchyard dim — 

(Ah ! through how many different graves 
God's children go to him ! ) — 

Yet every grave gives up its dead 
Ere it is overgrown with grass ; 

Then why should hopeless tears be shed, 
Or need we cry, " Alas" ? 



Or why should Memory, veiled with gloom, 
And like a sorrowing mourner craped, 

Sit weeping o'er an empty tomb, 
Whose captives have escaped? 

"Tis but a mound, and will be mossed 
Whene'er the summer grass appears ; 

The loved, though wept, are never lost; 
We only lose — our tears ! 

Nay, Hope may whisper with the dead 
By bending forward where they are ; 

But Memory, with a backward tread. 
Communes with them afar. 

The joys we lose are but forecast, 

And we shall find them all once more j 

We look behind us for the Past, 
But lo ! 'tis all before ! 



"gN^*-^ 



THE DIVINE ABODE. 



'E golden lamps of heaven, farewell, 
I With all your feeble light! 
Farewell, thou ever-changing moon 
Pale empress of the night! 

And thou, refulgent orb of day, 

In brighter flames arrayed ; 
My soul, that springs beyond thy sphere, 

No more demands thv aid. 



Ye stars are but the shining dust 

Of my divine abode ; 
The pavement of those heavenly courts 

Where I shall see my God. 

There all the millions of his saints 

Shall in one song unite; 
And each the bliss of all shall view 

With infinite delight. 

Philip Doddridge. 



THE BETTEK LAND. 



465 



SAFE TO THE LAND. 



KNOW not if the d:irk or bright 

Shall be my lot; 
If that wherein my hope- delight. 

Be best or uot. 
It may he mini- to drag for yean 

ToU'B heavy chain : 

Or day or night, my meal be tears. 

On bed of pain. 

Dear faces maj surround my hearth 

\\ i 1 1 1 -mile and glee, 
Or I may dwell alone, and mirth 
Be strange i" me. 

My hark i- wafted t" the strand 
By breath divine, 



And on the helm then' rests a Hand 
Other than mine. 

One who has ever known to -ail 

1 have on board; 
Above the raging of the gale 

I hear mj Lord 

He holds me; when tin- billows smite 

I -hall no1 fall; 
li -harp, 'ti- short : it long, 'ti- light; 

lb- tempers all. 

Safe to tin- land, -at.' to the laud! 

Tin- end i- this; 
And then n itfa Him go hand in baud. 

Ear into Mi--. 

1 1 1 s 83 ALFORD. 



OVER TI1K UIYER. 



*£■? 



r the river they beckon to me— 

Loved * who *ve passed to the further aide; 

li,,- gleam of their snowj rohes I see, 
Hut their voices are Lost in the dashing tide. 

There V one with ringlets oi -umn jj 

\,,d eyes the reflection ol heaven's own blue; 

...,1 i„ th, twilight graj and .old. 
And th.- pale mist hid him from mortal view ; 
We -aw not tin- angels who mei him there. 
The gateS of tie- CitJ We eoldd QOl - ' 

Over 'he river, over the river, 
My brother stands waiting to welcome me: 

Over the river the boatman pale 

. arried another, the hous hold pet: 
Her brown curls waxed in th,- gentle gale 

Darling Minnie! 1 see her yet. 

She crossed on her bosom her dim], led hand-. 

And fearle— 1> entered the phantom hark; 
We fell it glide from the silver -and-. 

And all our -uu-hine grew strangelj dark: 
We know -he i- -ate on the further -id, . 

Where all the ransomed and angels b< — 
<>\. i- th,- river, the mystic river, 
\h childhood's idol i- waiting for me. 



For le return from those quiel shores, 

\\ ho cross with the boatman cold and pale; 

We hear the dip oi the golden oars, 
And catch a gleam ol the snowj -ail: 

And lo! thej have passed from our yearning heart, 

I i,. J ■ l-OSS the Stream and are gone |,,r aye; 

We maj not -under the veil (pan 
Thai hid,-- 1 1 . -in ..in vision the gates ■■! day 

We only know that their hark- no more 
\i , ,ii uiii, u- o'er lite'- storm] sea, 

■v. mewhere, I know, on the unseen shore, 

Thej watch, and beckon, and wail for me. 

And I -il anil think, when the sunset's gold 

1- flushing river and hill and sh 
I shall one da\ -laud bj lh>' waier cold 

And li-i lor lie- sound oi Hie boatman's oar; 
1 shall watch tor a gleam of the flapping -ail. 

I B h ,|| Q ear the boat a- ii gains the strand; 
I -hill pa-- from sighl with the boatman pale, 

;,, ,|„. hem r -hore ,,i the spirit land. 
I shall kn..w the loved who have gone before, 

\,„l joyfullj -we,i will the meeting be, 
\\ i„u overthe river, the peaceful river. 

1 1,. ■,,,._.. i ol Death -hall carry me. 

\ \\, ^ Priest Wakefield. 
-*. 



SfoOKIXt; calmly vol humbly for the close of my mortal career, which cannot be far 
|U distant. 1 ivwivmh thank (iod for the blessings vouchsafed me in the past, and 
W with an awe thai is no1 fear, and a consciousness of demerit thai does not exclude 
hope, await the opening before my steps of the gates of the eternal world. 

Horace Greeley. 



468 



THE ROYAL- GALLERY. 



So as a soul from a higher sphere, 
Fettered down to this earthly clay, 

Strives at the chains that bind it here, 
Tossing and struggling, day by day, 
Day by day, 

Longing to break them and flee away, 



Strive the ships in their restlessness, 

Whether the tide be high or low ; — 
And why these tear-drops, I cannot guess, 
As down in the harbor, to and fro, 
To and fro, 
Backward and forward the vessels go. 

Elizabeth Akeks Allen. 




" He took the little ones up on his knee." 

THE JOLLY OLD PEDAGOGUE. 



WAS a jolly old pedagogue, long ago, 

Tall and slender, and sallow, and dry; 
His form was bent, and his gait was slow, 
His long, thin hair was as white as snow ; 
But a wonderful twinkle shone in his eye, 
And he sang every night as he went to bed, 
44 Let us be happy down here below ; 
The living should live, though the dead be dead, 
Said the jolly old pedagogue, long ago. 



He taught his scholars the rule of three, 

Writing, and reading, and history too; 
He took the little ones up on his knee, 
For a kind old heart in his breast had he, 

And the wants of the littlest child he knew: 
" Learn while you 're young," he often said, 

" There is much to enjoy down here below; 
Life for the living, and rest for the dead," 

Said the jolly old pedagogue, long ago. 



MISCELLANE01 S. 



469 



Witii the stupidest boys he was kind and cool, 

Speaking only in gentlest tones; 
The rod was hardly known in bis school; 
Whipping to him was a barbarous rule, 

And too hard work for bis p ' old bones; 

Besides, it was painful, be sometimes said, 

'•We should make life pleasant down here below, 
The living need charitj more than the dead," 

said the jolly old pedagogue, long ago. 

He lived in the house by the hawthorn lane, 

With roses and woodbine over the d ■; 

His rooms were quiet and neat and plain. 
Bin a -pirit oi comforl then- held reign, 

And made him forget he was old and poor. 
l - I need so little," he often said, 

•■ \nd mj friends and relatives here below 
Won't litigate over me when ['am dead.'' 

Said the jolh old pedagogue, long ago. 

But the pleasante-t lime- that he had. of all. 

Wen- (he sociable hours he used to pass, 
With his chair tipped back to a neighbor's wall, 
Making an iineereni.in'uMi- call, 

Over a pipe and a friendly glass; — 
This was the finest pleasure, be said, 

Of the many he lasted here below : 

»• Who baa no cronies had better be dead,' 1 
Said the jolly old pedagogue, long ago. 



I leu ih.. jolly old pedagogue's wrinkled face 

Melted all over in sunsbin} smiles; — 
lie stirred his glass with an old-school grace, 
Chuckled, and sipped, and prattled apace, 

Till tin- 1 se grew merry from cellar to tiles; — 

'• I'm a pretty old man." he gently said, 

•• I w lingered a long while here below ; 
But my heart is fresh, it mj youth is tied! " 

Said the jolly old pedagogue, long ago. 

lie smoked bis pipe in the balmy air, 

Every night when the sun went down. 
\\ bile the Bofl n Lnd played in his silver] hair. 
Leaving it- tenderest ki--e- there 

On the jolly old pedagogue's jollj old crown; 
And feeling the ki--e-. he smiled and said, 

Twas u gtaraous world down hen' below; 
■• Why wait for happiness fill we are dead?" 

said the j"ll> "Id pedagogue, long ago.'* 

H ' his d ■ one midsummer night, 

After the Bun had sunk in the west, 
And the lingering beams ol golden light 
Mid. bis kindlj old face look warm and bright, 

While the odorous night-wind whispered "Rest! 
Gently, gently ho bowed his lead. 

There were angels waiting for bim, I kn..w 
Ih- was sure oi happiness, living or .had. 



This jolly old pedagogue, lon$ 



1 •! OEGl AltNOLD. 



HERE 'S T< > THEM THAT AIM-: G WK. 



■ERE 's to them, to them thai 




Hen-'- to them that were here, the faithful and 

dear. 

Thai will never i>e her.- again no, never. 
But where are thej now that are gane? 
Oh. where are the faithful and true? 
They 're gane to the light that fears not the night, 
An' their da\ of rejoicing shall end no, never. 

Here '- to them, i" them that were here; 
Here '- to them, to them that were here; 
Her.- '- a tear and a sigh to the bliss (hat 's gane by, 
But't was ne'er like what '- coming, to last forever. 



Oh, bright was their rning sun! 

oh. bright was their morning sun! 
Yet, Inng ere the gloaming, in clouds it gaed down; 
Bui the storm and the cl I are now past — forever. 

i * eel, fareweel ! parting silenct is 3ad ; 
< ih. how sad the last parting tear! 
But thai silence shall break, where no tear on the 
cheek 
('an bedim the bright vision again — no, never. 
speed to the « ings oi old Time, 
Thai wati u- where pilgrims would be; 
To the region- of rest, to the shores of the Vilest, 
Where ih.- lull tide of glory shall flow— forever. 
Lady Caroline Nairne. 



THE TOPER'S APOLOGY 



•M Often a-ked by plodding souls 
\nd men of -..her tongue, 
What joy I take in draining bowls 
And tippling all night long. 



Bui though these caution- knave- I scorn, 

For once I '11 not disdain 
To tell them why I sit till morn 

And fill mv glass again. 



470 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



'Tis by the glow my bumper gives, 
Life's picture 's mellow made ; 

The fading light theu brightly lives 
And softly sinks the shade. 




" In life I 've run all changes through, 
Run every pleasure down." 

Some happier tint still rises there 
With every drop I drain ; 

And that I think 's a reason fair 
To till my glass again. 



My Muse, too, when her wings are dry, 

No frolic flights will take, 
But round the bowl she '11 dip and fly, 

Like swallows round a lake. 
Then, if each nymph will have her share, 

Before she '11 bless her swain, 
Why, that I think 's a reason fair 

To fill my glass again. 

In life I 've rung all changes through, 

Run every pleasure down, 
Tried all extremes of folly too, 

And lived with half the town ; 
For me there 's nothing new nor rare, 

Till wine deceives my brain ; 
And that I think 's a reason fair 

To fill my glass again. 

I find, too, when I stint my glass, 

And sit with sober air, 
I 'm prosed by some dull reasoning ass 

Who treads the path of care ; 
Or, harder still, am doomed to bear" 

Some coxcomb's fribbling strain; 
And that I 'm sure 's a reason fair 

To fill my glass again. 

There 's many a lad I knew is dead, 

And many a lass grown old, 
And as the lesson strikes my head, 

My weary heart grows cold ; 
But Mine awhile drives off despair — 

Nay, bids a hope remain ; 
And that I think 's a reason fair 

To fill my glass again. 

Charles Mp^is. 



A VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS. 



'flEMWAS the night before Christmas, when all 
ggm through the house 
MK Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse ; 
$■ The stockings were hung by the chimney with 
care, 
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there. 
The children were nestled all snug in their beds, 
While visions of sugar-plums danced through then- 
heads ; 
And mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap, 
Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap, 
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, 
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter. 

Away to the window I flew like a flash, 
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. 
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen «iow 
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects belo-iv; 
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, 
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer, 



With a little old driver, so lively and quick, 

I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. 

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, 

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by 

name : 
"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer! and 

Vixen ! 
On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen! 
To the top of the porch ! to the top of the wall ! 
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all! " 

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, 
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky, 
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew, 
With the sleighful of toys, and St. Nicholas too. 
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof 
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. 

As I drew in my head, and was turning around, 
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a 

bound. 



Ml- 



471 



lie was dressed all in fur. from his head i" bis foot. 
Ami bis clothes wen' all tarnished with ashes and 

BOOl : 
A bundle of toys he had flung mi lii- back, 
And he looked like a peddler jnsl opening bis pack. 

Mi- ryes, b,OW UlCV I \s illkli-il I hi- dililplr-. Ik ■ w 

merry! 
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry! 
His droll little mouth was drawn np like a bow, 
And the beard of his chin was as \\ bite as the snow ; 
Th.- slump of a i » » i » « - be held tighl in his teeth, 
And the smoke U encircled his bead like a wreath. 
He had a broad face and a little round belly 
That shook, when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly. 



He was chubby and plump— a righl jolly old erf— 
And 1 laughed, when I saw him, iu spite oi myself; 
Awinkol his eye, and n twist ol bis head, 
Soon gave me to know I bad nothing to dread ; 
He spoke nol a word, bill wenl straight t<> his work, 
And fllled all the stockings; then turned with a 

jerk, 
And laying bis finger aside of his nose, 
And giving a nod, up the chimnej be rose. 
Hi sprang to the sleigh, to the team gave a whistle, 
And away thej all flew, like the down ol a thistle, 
Bui I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, 
•• liappj i bristmas to all, ami to all a good-night! 
i u mi M c. Moore, 




hades prevail. 
I M ion takes up the wondrous talc; 
And nightly, to the listening Earth, 
Repeats ihc .-t>.rv of her birth." 



THE SPACIOUS FIRMAMENT ON HIGH. 



EHE spacious Armament on high. 
With all the blue ethereal -ky. 
And spangled heavens, a shining frame, 
Their great Original proclaim. 



The unwearied Sun from day to day 
Does his < Ireator's power display; 
And publishes, to every land. 
The work of an almighty band. 



472 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



Soon as the evening shades prevail, 
The Moon takes up the wondrous tale; 
And nightly, to the listening Earth, 
Repeats the story of her birth : 
Whilst all the stars that round her burn, 
And all the planets, in their turn, 
Confirm the tidings as they roll, 
And spread the truth from pole to pole. 



What though, in solemn silence, all 
Move round the dark terrestrial ball: 
What though nor real voice nor sound 
Amidst their radiant orbs be found : 
Iu reason's ear they all rejoice, 
And utter forth a glorious voice, 
Forever singing as they shine, 
" The hand that made us is divine." 

Joseph Addison. 



NEG-RO REVIVAL HYMN. 



H, whar shill we go w'en de great day comes, 
Wid de blowin' er de trumpits en de bangiu' er 

de drums? 
How many po' sinners '11 be kotched out late 
En fine no latch ter de golden gate? 



Who's a gwine fer ter stan' stiff-kneed en bol', 
En answer to der name at de callin' er de roll? 
You better come now ef you comin' — 
Ole Satun is loose en a bummin' — 
De wheels er distruckshun is a hummin' — 
Oh, come 'long, sinners, ef you comin' ! 

De song er salvashun is a mighty sweet song, 
En de Pairidise win' blow fur en blow strong, 
En Aberham s bosom, hits saft en hits wide, 
!=, En right dar's de place whar de sinners oughter hide! 

Oh, you nee'n ter be a stoppin' en a lookin'; 

Ef you fool wid ole Satun you'll git took in; 

You '11 hang on de.aidge en get shook in, 

Ef you keep on a stoppin' en a lookin'. 




No use fer ter wait twell ter-morrer, 
De sun musn't set on yo' sorrer, — 
Sin's ez sharp ez a bamboo-brier — 
O Lord! fetch de mo'ners up higher! 

W'en de nashuns er de earf is a standin' all aroun', 
Who's a gwine ter be choosen fer ter w'ar de glory - 
crown? 



De time is right now; en dish yer's de place — 
Let de sun er salvashun shine squar' in yo' face; 
Fight de battles er de Lord, fight soon en fight late, 
En you '11 allers fine a latch ter de golden gate ; 

No use fer ter wait twel ter-morrer, 

De sun musn't set on yo' sorrer, — 

Sin's ez sharp ez a bamboo-brier, 

Ax de Lord fer ter fetch you up higher ! 

Joel Chandler Harris. 



RflS< lELLANEOUS. 



473 



THE I »LD SHEPHERD'S DOG. 



old Shepherd's dog, like bis master, was 
gray. 

His teeth all departed and feeble bis tongue; 
Yet where'er Corin went bewas followed by 
Traj ; 
Thus happy through life did thi 
along. 



If < lorin went forth 'mill the tempests and rain, 
Tray scorned i" !"■ left in cue chimney behind. 

At length, in the straw Traj made hi- last bed — 
I'm- vain, agaidsl Death, i- the stoutest endeavor; 

To lick Conn's band he reared up hi- weak bead, 
I'h. -n fell back, closed hi- eyes, and. ah: closed 
them forever. 




• s jjray." 



When fatigued, on the grass the Shepherd would lie, 
For a nap in the sun — 'midst bis slumbers so sweet, 

His faithful companion crawled constantly nigh, 
Placed his head on his lap or lay down at his feet. 

When winter was heard on the hill and the plain, 
And torrents descended, and odd was the wind. 



Vi long after Tray did the Shepherd remain, 

\\ I fi o'er his grave with true sorrow would 

bend ; 
And. when dying, thus feebly was heard the poor 
sw ain : 
•■ Oh. bury me, neighbors, beside ray old friend'! v 
John Wolcott (Peter Pindar) . 



jOOKS are the true leveler.s. They give to all who faithfully use them the society, 
' the spiritual presence, of the greatest and best of our race. 



474 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



THE BELLS. 



IpiiEAR the sledges with the bells, 
HHi Silver bells ! 

' v || v - What a world of merriment their melodj' fore- 
J4 tells ! 

How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, 

In the icy air of night ! 
While the stars that oversprinkle 
All the heavens seem to twinkle 

With a crystalline delight; 
Keeping time, time, time, 
In a sort of Rnnic rhyme, 
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells 
From the bells, bells, bells, bells, 
Bells, bells, bells, 
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells. 

Hear the mellow wedding bells- 
Golden bells ! 
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells ! 
Through the balmy air of night 
How they ring out their delight! 
From the molten-golden notes, 

And all in tune, 
What a liquid ditty floats 
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats 
On the moon ! 
Oh, from out the sounding cells, 
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells! 
How it swells ! 
How it dwells 
On the future ! how it tells 
Of the rapture that impels 
To the swinging and the ringing 

Of the bells, bells, bells — 
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, 
Bells, bells, bells— 
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells! 

Hear the- loud alarum bells — 
Brazen bells ! 
What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells! 
In the startled ear of night 
How they scream out their affright! 
Too much horrified to speak, 
They can only shriek, shriek, 
Out of tune, 
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, 
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire 
Leaping higher, higher, higher, 
With a desperate desire, 
And a resolute endeavor, 
Now — now to sit or never, 
By the side of the pale-faced moon. 



Oh, the bells, bells, bells! 
What a tale their terror tells 
Of despair! 
How they clang, and clash, and roarl 
What a horror they outpour 
On the bosom of the palpitating air ! 
Yet the ear, it fully knows, 
By the twanging, 
And the clanging, 
How the danger ebbs and flows ; 
Yet the ear distinctly tells, 
In the jangling 
And the wrangling, 
How the danger sinks and swells, 
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the 
bells — 

Of the bells — 
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, 
Bells, bells, bells— 
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells ! 

Hear the tolling of the bells — 

Iron bells! 
What a world of solemn thought their monody com- 
pels! 
In the silence of the night 
How we shiver with affright, 
At the melancholy menace of their tone! 
For every sound that floats 
From the rust within their throats 

Is a groan. 
And the people — ah, the people — 
They that dwell up in the steeple, 

All alone, 
And who tolling, tolling, tolling, 

In that muffled monotone, 
Feel a glory in so rolling 

On the human heart a stone — 
They are neither man nor woman — 
They are neither brute nor human — 

Thej- are Ghouls : 
And their king it is who tolls; 
And he rolls, rolls, rolls, rolls, 

A paean from the bells ! 
And his merry bosom swells 

With the paean of the bells ! 
And he dances and he yells ; 
Keeping time, time, time, 
In a sort of Runic rhyme, 

To the paean of the bells — 
Of the bells; 
Keeping time, time, time, 
In a sort of Runic rhyme, 



MISCELLANEOUS. 



475 



To the throbbing oi the bella- 
Of the bells, bells, bells, 

To the sobbiug ui the bells; 
Keeping time, time, time, 

A- he knells, knells, knells, 
ii a huppj Runic rh> m ■ 



To the rolling oi the bells, 
01 the bells, bells, bells, 

To the tolling ol the bells, 
01 the bells, bells, bells, bells 
Bells, bells, bells, 
To the moaning and the groaning ol the bells. 

Edgab allkn Poe. 







" I mind 

w bins, all 

De darkies sat— sich hap] 



A.UNT sii.v \ meets roiTNG m \>"k J< »ii\. 



. 



IIY. hi! young Mns'r John, flat yon? 

Well, ill'-- de g Iness, so ii i-: 

An' shake Aunt Silvy's ban', yon do? 

D' ole 'Oman's ns'ous proud o' .Ii-: 

Dese ole eyes might] dim, Mas 1 John, 
An 1 streamin' tears don'1 help 'em none! 

Eov is ii wid me? Well, you see, 
T lint no time l n so good bui what 

Ole mas'r's home befo' we's free 
[s nehhei in de leasl fo'got— 

Dese twenty years since I «a< ilah, 

An' yon was fightin 1 in de wah. 

1 mind dem Sat'day a'ternoons, 
When, "in befo 1 tie cabins, all 

I>«> darkies -at — icfe happy loons!— 
To rest an' talk, an' laugh an* bawl. 



I likes my fr lom, fusi an' last, 

Bui -till I cries "bout what'- done past. 

My ole man's In hi- grave, long 'go — 
Some chilluns dead, none lef wid me; 

l '- gittin' mighty feeble, now, 
An' lonesome in dis world, j on see. 

Where does I lib? I '- gol no home, 

So here an' dah I has to roam. 

Vim '- boughl de ole place, you, Mas' John? 

An* takes me back t" rest, yon Bay? 
Dc cabin's mine? Bless God, I 'm done 

"U'nl troubles till my dyin' day! 
Young mas'r, Silvy "11 serve you still. 
An* God will lith yon. ilitt He will! 

Ed. Porter Thompson. 



476 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



THE GRAVE. 



]RE is a calm for those who weep, 
A rest for weary pilgrims found ; 
They softly lie, and sweetly sleep, 

Low in the ground. 



" The Grave, that never spoke before, 

Hath found, at last, a tongue to chide : 
listen! I will speak no more — 

Be silent, pride! 



The storm that wrecks the winter sky 
No more disturbs their deep repose 
Than summer evening's latest sigh, 

That shuts the rose. 



" Art thou a wretch, of hope forlorn. 

The victim of consuming care? 
Is thy distracted conscience torn 

By fell despair? 



I long to lay this painful head 

And aching heart beneath the soil — 
To slumber in that dreamless bed 

From all my toil. 



" Do foul misdeeds of former times 

"Wring with remorse thy guilty breast? 
And ghosts of unforgiven crimes 

Murder thy rest? 




For misery stole me at my birth, 

And cast me helpless on the wild. 
I perish — oh, my mother Earth,' 

Take home thy child! 

On thy dear lap these limbs reclined, 

S'lall gently molder into thee ; 
Nor leave one wretched trace behind 
Resembling me. 



" Lashed by the furies of the mind, 

From wrath and vengeance wouldst thou flee? 
Ah ! think not, hope not, fool, to find * 

A friend in me ! 

" I charge thee, live — repent and pray! 

In dust thine infamy deplore ! 
There yet is mercy. Go thy way, 

And sin no more. 

" Whate'er thy lot, whoe'er thou be, 

Confess thy folly — kiss the rod, 
And in thy chastening sorrows see 

The hand of God. 



Hark! a strange sound affrights mine ear; 

My pulse, my brain runs wild ! I rave! 
Ah, who art thou whose voice I hear? 

— "I am the Grave! 



" A bruised reed He will not break : 

Afflictions all His children feel ; 
He wounds them for His mercy's sake — 
He wounds to heal! 



MISI ELLANEOUS. 



477 



"Humbled beneath His mighty hand, 

E>rostrate Bia providence adore. 
'Tis done! — Arise! Be bids thee Maud. 
To fall oo more. 

M Now, traveler in the vale of tears, 
To realm- oi everlasting light, 

Through 'rime - - dark h ilderncss -i j ears 
Pursue tli\ llighl ! 

"There is a calm for those who weep, 
a resl for wear) pilgrims found; 



And while the moldering ashes sleep 

Low in the (ground; 

"The soul, ol origin divine, 
God's glorious image, freed from clay, 
f'Tiial Bphere shall -bine, 
A star -I day! 

•• i he -mi i- but a spark oi live. 

A transient meteor in \L< 
The -"ill. immortal a- ii- -ire. 

Shall never die." 

MOl ItiOMERV. 




ven 




-Uc.1, 



j^S) 



even Bklea ol wonder 

u k unwelcome cloud, 
And the dj log 'lav wenl . 

in n- purple -sb tdowed shroud, 
Hut the cloud rose higher, higher, 

Blon M across the paling blue ; 
Bhadow now ".> more, bul 

Kuby Hash ami amber hue. 

w bal it doubt be God's <\<\ Islng 
lake Hie shad >w in tii,' « , -i, 

n the cloud "i doubl arising 
iake in. >re Bunllghl en n- breaatl 

KBNMBLL ItODD. 




THE WORLD. 



SAW eternity the other night. 

Like a great ring of pure and endless light. 

All calm, as it was bright; 
And round beneath it, time, in hours, days, 
years, 

Driven by the spheres 

Like a vast shadow moved, in which the world 

And all her train were hurled. 



The doting lover, in his quaintest strain, 

Did there complain; 
Near him his lute, his fancy, and his flights, 

Wit's sour delights; 
With gloves and knots, the silly snares of pleasure. 

Yet his dear treasure 
All scattered lav. while he his eyes eyes did pour 

Upon a flower. 



478 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



The darksome statesman, hung with weights and 

woe, 
Like a thick midnight fog, moved there so slow, 

He did not stay nor go ; 
Condemning thoughts, like mad eclipses, scowl 

Upon his soul, 
And clouds of crying witnesses without 

Pursued him with one shout. 
Yet digged the mole, and lest his ways be found, 

Workt under ground, 
Where he did clutch his prey; hut one did see 

That policy ; 
Churches and altars fed him; perjuries 

Were gnats and flies ; 
It rained about him blood and tears; but he 

Drank them as free. 



The downright epicure placed heaven in sense, 

And scorned pretence ; 
While others, slipt into a wide excess, 

Said little less ; 
The weaker sort, slight, trivial wares enslave, 

Who think them brave, 
And poor, despised truth sat counting by 

Their victory. 

Yet some, who all this while did weep and sing, 
And sing and weep, soared up into the ring; 

But most would use no wing. 
" O fools," said I, " thus to prefer dark night 

Before true light ! 
To live in grots and caves, and hate the day 

Because it shows the way, — 




The fearful miser, on a heap of rust, 

Sat pining all his life there ; did scarce trust 

His own hands with the dust; 
Yet would not place one piece above, but lives 

In fear of thieves. 
Thousands there were, as frantic as himself, 

And hugged each one his pelf; 



The way which, from this dead and dark abode, 

Leads up to God ; 
A way where you might tread the sun, and be 

More bright than he! " 
But, as I did their madness so discuss, 

One whispered thus, 
" This ring the bridegroom did for none provide, 

But for his bride." 

Henry Vaughah. 



WILLIAM TELL AMONG- THE MOUNTAINS. 



|IP?E crags and peaks, I'm with you once again! 
SJSiis I hold to you the hands you first beheld, 
•%&• To show they still are free. Methinks I hear 
j. A spirit in your echoes answer me, 
T And bid your tenant welcome to his home 
Again! O sacred iorms, now proud ye look! 
How high you lift your heads into the sky! 
How huge you are 1 ! how mighty and how free! 



Ye are the things that tower, that shine, 

Makes glad, whose frown is terrible, whose form? 

Robed or unrobed, do all the impress wear 

Of awe divine. Ye guards of liberty! 

I'm with you once again!— I call to you 

With all my voice ! I hold my hands to you 

To show they still are free. I rush to you, 

As though I could embrace you! 



MISCELLANEOUS. 



479 



Scaling yonder peak. 

S. saw an eagle wheeling, near its brow. 

O'er the abyss. Bis broad, expanded wings 

Lay calm and motionless upon the air, 

As if he hail floated there, without their aid, 

By the sole act of bis unlorded will, 

•J'liat buoyed him proudly up! Instinctively 

I bent my bow; yel wheeled he, heeding not 

'i'ho death that threatened him! I could not shoot! 

']' was Ubertj ! 1 turned my bow aside, 

And let him soar away. 



In my boat at night, when down the motintain gorge 
The wind came roaring — at in it. and eyed 
The thunder breaking from bis cloud, and smiled 
To see him shake bis lightnings o'er mj head, 
And think I had no master, save his ow n ! 

You know the jutting cliff, i id which a track 

Dp hither wind-, whose base is but the brow 
To Buch another one, with scanty room 
For two to pass abreast? Overtaken there 
Bj the mountain-blast, 1 'v laid me flat along 




e > • . — 



"The thunder breaking from bis tfond, and smiled 
To Bee linn Bhake his lightnings o'er my bead." 



Onee Switzerland was free! <>. with what pride 
I used to walk these hills, look up to heaven. 
And bless (lo.l that it was so! It was free! 
From end to end. from cliff to lake, "t was free! 
Free as our torrents are. that leap our rock-;. 
And plough our valleys without asking leave; 
Or as our peaks, that wear their caps of snow 
In very presence of the regal sun! 
How happy was I in it then! I loved 
Its very storms ! Ay, often have I sat 



And while gust followed gust more furiously, 
As if i would sweep me o'er the horrid brink. 
And 1 have thought of other land-, whose storms 
Are summer-flaws to those of mine, and just 
Have wished me there. — the thought that mine was 

free 
Has checked that wish; and I have raised my head, 
And cried, in thraldom, to that furious wind, 
"Blow on!— This is the land of liberty! " 

James Sheridan Knowles. 



The sword is but a hideous flash in the darkness — right is an eternal ray. 



480 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



MY HEART 'S IN THE HIGHLANDS, 
i. - H. 



IfjSfY heart 's iu the Highlands, my heart is not 

|gS^ here ; 

y^\ My heart 's in the Highlands a chasing the 

J4, deei " 

Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe — 
My heart 's in the Highlands wherever I go. 
Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North, 
The birthplace of valor, the country of worth ; 



Farewell to the mountains high covered with 

snow ; 
Farewell to the straths and green valleys below: 
Farewell to the forests and. wild -hanging woods; 
Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring hoods. 
My heart 's in the Highlands, my heart is not 

here, 
My heart 's in the Highlands a chasing the deer; 




"Farewell to the mountains high covered with snow; 
Farewell to the straths and green valleys below." 



Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, 
The hills of the Highlands forever I love. 



Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe — 
My heart 's in the Highlands, wherever I go. 

Robert Burns- 



THE RAVEN. 



TCE upon a midnight dreary, 
While I pondered, weak and weary, 
Over many a quaint and curious volume of for- 
gotten lore, 
While I nodded, nearly napping, 
Suddenly there came a tapping, 
As of some one gently rapping, 
Rapping at my chamber door. 
'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping <».t my 
chamber door — 
Only this, and nothing more." 



Ah, distinctly I remember, 
It was in the bleak December, 
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost 
upon the floor. 
Eagerly I wished the morrow; 
Vainly I had tried to borrow 
From my books surcease of sorrow — 
Sorrow for the lost Lenore — 
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels 
name Lenore — 
Nameless here for evermore. 






Presently my 


-Ml 


1 gr 


>w stronger; 






l [esitating th< 


n i 


,, i,, 


iger, 






Sir,"' said 1. " or 


M: 


'In N 


. trulj youi 


forgh 


enesa I 


implore; 












Bui Hi'- fad i-. I 


w a- 


napping, 






And BO geiltlj 


\ 1 


M e; 


me rapping, 






And SO 1 :i ■ i i 1 1> 


y< 


u i'a 


in,- tapping, 






Tapping at 


lilt 


. ha 


iiiIm r door, 






li:i( I -rarer was Sure 


l hi 


ird j "ii." - - 


here 1 


ipened 



BflSCELLANEOl S. 481 

And the Bilken, sad, uncertain Then thi- ebony bird beguiling 

Rustling hi each purple curtain My sad fancj into smiling, 

Thrilled me— filled me w iili fantastic terrors never felt By the grave ami stern decorum "t the countenance it 
before; wore, 

Bo thai now . i" -iili 'in- beating "Though thy cresl I"- shorn and shaven. 

Of my heart, l - 1 repeating, Thou," I -aid. ••an sure no craven, 

••" Tis some visitor entreating Ghastly, grim and ancient Raven, 
Entrance al my chamber door— Wandering from the Nightrj shore- 
Borne laic visitor entreating entrance at my chamber Tell me xvhat thy lordly name is on the Night's Plu- 

d ■; tonian shore!" 

This ii i-. and nothing v." Quoth the Raven, •• Nevermore." 

Much 1 marvelled ilii- ungainly 
Fowl i" hear discourse so plainly. 
Though ii- answer little meaning, little relevancy 

I •; 

e cannot help agreeing 
'l bal ii" li\ lug human being 
i ,-et was blessed with seeing 
Bird above his chamber di 
Bird or beasi upon the sculptured bust above his 
wide fin- door: chamber door— 

Darkness there, and nothing more! W itu such name a- •• Nevermore." 

I).-.-], into that darkness peering, But the Raven sitting lonely 

Long I Btood there, w lering, fearing, <>n the placid bust, spok< 1\ 

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared i" Thai "in- word, a- if hi- soul in that one word he did 

dream before: outpour. 

But the -ili-iH.- was unbroken, Nothing further then he uttered— 

And the darkness gave no token, x l feather then he fluttered 

And the onlj wmd there spoken 'till I scarcely more than muttered, 

Was the whispered word, " Lenore!' 1 "Other friends have down before— 
Tlii- / whispered, and an echo murmured bark tin- <>u tin- morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have 

wmd. •• Lenore! " llown before." 

Merelj ilii-. and nothing more. Then the bird -aid. •• Never re." 

Then int.. the chamber turning, Startled at the stillness broken 
All mj soul within me burning, By reply so aptly spoken, 
Soon I heard again a tapping -mi. -what louder than >• Doubtless," -aid 1. "what ii utters i- its only stock 
before. : ,nd store, 
"Surely," -aid l. ---in-eh that is Caught from some unhappj master 
Somethingal mj wiudov lattice; Whom unmerciful Disaster 
Let in. -,-,.. then, what thereat i-. Followed fast and followed 
And this mysterj explore Till hi- songs "in- burden bore- 
Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery ex- Till the dirges "i hi- Hope the melancholy burden 
plon : bore 
'Tis the wind, and nothing more!" in 'Nevermore' "i ' Nevermore.'" 

open here I flung the shutter, But the Raven -till beguiling 

When, with mane a flirt and flutter, All my -ad -mil into smiling, 

In there stepped a gtateh Raven "t the saintly days "f Straight I wl I'd a cushioned -'-at in front of bird, 

\ ore; and bust, and door; 

Not ih.- least obeisance made he; Then upon the velvet -inking. 

Nol an instant -tupped or stayed he; I i, myself t.. linking 

But, with mien "i lord or lady. Fancy nut" fancy, thinking 

Perched above my chamber door— What thi- ominous bird of yore — 

Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber What thi- grim, ungainly, ghastij . gaunt and ominous 
door bird of j ore 

Perched, and sat, and nothing mure. Meant in croaking, ■• Nevermore." 



484 



THE KOYAL GALLERY. 




Now he hears the pipes lamenting, 
Harpers for his mother mourn, 

Slow, with sable plume and pennon, 
To her cairn of burial borne. 

Then anon his dreams are darker, 

Sounds of battle fill his ears, 
And the pibroch's mournful wailing 

For his father's fall he hears. 

Wild Lochaber's mountain echoes 

Wail in concert for the dead, 
And Loch Awe's deep waters murmur 

For the Campbell's glory fled ! 

Fierce and strong the godless tyrants 

Trample the apostate land, 
While her poor and faithful remnant 

Wait for the avenger's hand. 

Once again at Inverary, 

Years of weary exile o'er, 
Armed to lead his scattered clansmen, 

Stands the bold MacCallum More. 

Once again to battle calling 

Sound the war-pipes through the glen, 
And the court-yard of Dunstaffnage 

Kings with tread of armed men. 

All is lost! the godless triumph, 

And the faithful ones and true 
From the scaffold and the prison 

Covenant with God anew. 

On the darkness of his dreaming 
Great and sudden glory shone ; 

Over bonds and death victorious 
Stands he by the Father's Throne ! 

From the radiant ranks of martyrs 
Notes of joy and praise he hears, 

Songs of his poor land's deliveraDee 
Sounding from the future years. 

Lo, he wakes! but airs celestial 

Bathe him in immortal rest, 
And he sees with unsealed vision 

Scotland's cause with victory blest. 

Shining hosts attend and guard him 

As he leaves his prison door; 
And to death as to a triumph 

Walks the great MacCallum More! 

Elizabeth H. Whittier. 



Fairest of the rustic dancers, 
Blue-eyed Effie smiles once more, 

Bends to him her snooded tresses, 
Treads with him the grassy floor. 



W charming is divine philosophy! 
wM Not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools 

suppose, 
But musical as is Apollo's lute, 
And a perpetual feast of nectared sweets. 



MISCELLANE01 3 



485 



CHILDHOOD'S PRAYER. 



jS now I lay me down to sleep, 
C May anp'l guards around me keep. 
Through all the Bilent houre of night, 
Their watch and ward till morning Light. 

Dim evening' shades around me i reep, 
Ab now I lay me down to sleep. 



If 1 should die before I wake; 

If I this night the world forsake, 

And leave the friende I hold most dear, 

Leave all that I bo value here; 

And if Thy call my -lumbers break — 

If I should die before 1 wake, 




ay me down t.> sleep.' 



I pray Thee. Lord, my soul to keep. 
The while I wake or while I sleep; 
And while I work and while I play. 
Give me Thy grace, that, day by day, 
Thy love may in my heart grow deep, 
3 pray Thee. Lord, my soul to keep. 



I pray Thee. Lord, my soul to take; 
I pray thai Thou wouldsl for me n.a 
Close at Thy feet a lowly place, 
Where I may e'er behold Thy face, 
And this ! a-k for Thy dear Bake — 
I pray Thee. Lord, my soul to take. 



486 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



While bending at my mother's knee, 
This little prayer she taught to me — 
" Now as I lay me down to sleep, 
I pray Thee, Lord, my soul to keep ; 



If I should die before I wake, 

I pray Thee, Lord, my soul to take. 



Newton S. Otis. 




THE LADY'S "YES. 



?ES," I answered you last night; 
'No," this morning, sir, I say. 
Colors seen by candle-light 
Will not look the same by day. 

When the viols played their best, 
Lamps above, and laughs below, 

Love me sounded like a jest, 
Fit for yes or fit for no. 

Call me false or call me free, 
Vow, whatever light may shine, 

No man on your face shall see 
Any grief for change on mine. 

Yet the sin is on us both ; 
Time to dance is not to woo ; 



Wooing light makes fickle troth, 
Scorn of me recoils on you. 

Learn to win a lady's faith 

Nobly, as the thing is high, 
Bravely, as for life and death, 

With a loyal gravity. 

Lead her from the festive boards, 

Point her to the starry skies, 
Guard her, by your truthful words, 

Pure from courtship's flatteries. 

By your truth she shall be true, 

Ever true, as wives of yore ; 
And her yes, once said to you, 

Shall be Yes forevermore. 

Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 



BUSl 1. 1. 1. an EOUS. 



487 



THE LAST LEAF. 



SAW him onrc before, 
As he passed by the door; 

And again 
The pavement-stones resound 
As he totters o'er the ground 

Willi hi- cane. 




" Hut the .-.111 ihrci ■•• 

Ami the breeches, and all that, 

Arc mi .incur." 



They say ihat in hi- prime, 
Ere the priming-knife of time 

( 'in him down, 
;N'ut a better man was found 
By the crier on bis round 

Through the town. 

But now he walks the streets, 

And lie looks at all ho moots 
Sad and wan. 

And he shakes his feeble bead, 
And it seems as if be said, 
"They are gone." 

Tlio moss] marbles rest 
On the lii>< that he has pressed 
in their bloom'. 



And the names lie loved to hear 
Eave been carved for many a year 
< m the tomb. 

My grandmamma has said — 
J' ■ old ladj ! she is dead 

Long ago- 
Thai be had a Roman nose, 
And his cheek was like a rose 

In the snow . 

Bui now bis nose i- thin, 
And it rests upon bis chin 

Like a staff; 
And a crook is in his back, 
And a melaueholj crack 

In bis langh. 

I know it is a -in 
For me to -it and grin 

At him here, 
Bui the old three-cornered hat, 

And the breeches, and all that. 

Air so q sr! 

And if I should ii\'- to be 
The la-t leaf upon the tree 

In the spring, 
Lei them smile, as 1 do now. 
At the old forsaken bough 

Where I cling. 

Oliver w t tan ll Holmes. 



W**~ V &~ > 




THE N"( >BLE NATURE. 

f"Y i- not growing like a tree 

L in hulk, doth make man better be; 

inding long an oak, three hundred year, 
| To fall a log at last, dry. bald and sere: 
|" a lily of a day 

I- fairer far in May. 
Although ir fall and dio that night — 
It was the plant and llower of Light. 
In small proportions wo just beauties see; 
And in short measures life may perfect bo. 

Ben Joxson. 



488 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



OF A CONTENTED MIND. 



'HEN all is done and said. 

In the end thus shall you find, 
He most of all doth bathe in bliss, 

That hath a quiet mind; 
And, clear from worldly cares, 

To deem can be content 
The sweetest time in all his life, 

In. thinking to be spent. 



Companion none is like 

Unto the mind alone ; 
For many have been harmed by speech, 

Through thinking, few or none. 
Fear oftentimes restraineth words, 

But makes not thought to cease; 
And he speaks best that hath the skill 

When for to hold his peace 




" The sweetest time of all my life 
To deem in thinking spent." 



The body subject is 

To fickle Fortune's power, 
And to a million of mishaps 

Is casual every hour: 
And Death in time doth change 

It to a clod of clay ; 
When as the mind, which is divine, 

Runs never to decay. 



Our wealth leaves us at death; 

Our kinsmen at the grave; 
But virtues of the mind unto 

The heavens with us we have. 
Wherefore, for virtue's sake, 

I can be well content, 
The sweetest time of all my life 

To deem in thinking spent. 

Thomas, Lord Vadx. 



MJSCELLAXE01 S. 



489 



THE SEA-BIRD'S SONG. 



jX the deep is Hie manner'- danger, 
I On the deep Lfl ill'' mariner's death; 
Who to fear of the tempest a stranger 
Sees the lasl buhhle bursl ol hi- breath! 
Tis the sea-bird, sea-bird, sea-bird, 

Lone looker on despair; 
The Bea-bird sea-bird, sea-bird, 
The only witness there. 



Whose wing Is the wing thai can cover 
Willi ii- shadow tin- foundering wreck? 
"li- iin' sea-bird, etc. 

My eye in the light of the billow, 

My w in-- on the wake of the wave, 
I shall take to my breast for a pillow 
I be shroud ■•! the fair and the brave. 
fin ib.' sea-bird, >•!<•. 




"My eye, when thcl-.arV Is benighted, 
Sees the lamp of the light-house go 



Who watches their course who so mildly 
Careen to the kiss of the hreeze? 

"Who lists to their shrieks who so wildlj 
Are clasped in the arms of the BeaB? 
Tis the sea-bird, etc. 

Who hovers on high o'er the lover. 
And her who has clung to his neck? 



M\ foot "ii the iceberg has lighted, 

When hoarse the wild winds reerabont; 
My eye, when the bark is benighted, 
Sees tie lam)) of the light-house go out. 
l"iu the sea-bird, sea-bird, sea-bird, 

Lone looker on despair, 
The sea-bird, sea-bird, sea-bird, 
The only witness there. 

John G. C. Brainakd. 



|OR my own private 
■ wear :i diadem. 



satisfaction, I had rather be master of mv own time than 



490 



THE EOYAL GALLERY. 



THE MARINER'S DREAM. 



mN slumbers of midnight the sailor boy lay ; 
fR His hammock swung loose at the sport of the 
W wind ; 

'i But watch- worn and weary, his cares flew away, 
And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind. 

He dreamt of his home, of his dear native bowers, 
And pleasures that waited on life's merry morn; 

While memory each scene gaily covered with flowers, 
And restored every rose, but secreted its thorn. 

Then Fancy her magical pinions spread wide, 
And bade the young dreamer in ecstasy rise ; 

Now far, far behind him the green waters glide, 
And the cot of his forefathers blesses his eyes. 

The jessamine clambers in flower o'er the thatch, 
And the swallow chirps sweet from her nest in the 
wall; 

All trembling with transport, he raises the latch, 
And the voices of loved ones reply to his call. 

A father bends o'er him with looks of delight; 

His cheek is bedewed with a mother's warm tear; 
And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss unite 

With the lips of the maid whom his bosom holds 
dear. 

The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast ; 

Joy quickens his pulses, — -his hai'dships seem o'er; 
And a murmur of happiness steals through his rest, — 

" O God! thou hast blest me, — I ask for no more." 

Ah ! whence is that flame which now glares on his eye? 
Ah ! what is that sound which now bursts on his 
ear? 
'Tis the lightning's red gleam, painting hell on the 
sky! 
'Tis the crashing of thunders, the groan of the 
sphere ! 



He springs from his hammock, — he flies to the deck; 

Amazement confronts him with images dire ; 
Wild winds and mad waves drive the vessel a wreck; 

The masts fly in splinters ; the shrouds are on fire. 

Like mountains the billows tremendously swell; 

In vaiu the lost wretch calls on Mercy to save; 
Unseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell; 

And the death-angel flaps his broad wing o'er the 
wave ! 

O sailor boy, woe to thy dream of delight! 

In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of bliss. 
Where now is the picture that Fancy touched bright,- 

Thy parents' fond pressure, and love's honeyed 
kiss? 

O sailor boy ! sailor boy ! never again 
Shall home, love or kindred thy wishes repay; 

Unblessed and unhonored, down d?ep in the main, 
Full many a fathom, thy frame shall decay. 

No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for thee, 
Or redeem form or fame from the merciless surge; 

But the white foam of waves shall thy winding-sheet 
be, 
And winds in the midnight of winter thy dirge ! 

On a bed of green sea-flowers thy limbs shall be 
laid,— 

Around thy white bones the red coral shall grow; 
Of thy fair yellow locks threads of amber be made, 

And every part suit to thy mansion below. 

Days, months, years, and ages shall circle away, 
And still the vast waters above thee shall roll ; 

Frail, short-sighted mortals their doom must obey,^ 
O sailor boy ! sailor boy ! peace to thy soul ! 

William Dimond. 



RING OUT, WILD BELLS. 



SENG out, wild bells, to the wild sky, 
I The flying cloud, the frosty light; 
The year is dying in the night ; 
Eing out, wild bells, and let him die. 

Ring out the old, ring in the new; 

Ring, happy bells, across the snow; 

The year is going, let him go ; 
Ring out the false, ring in the true. 

Ring out the grief that saps the mind, 
For those that here we see no more; 
Ring out the feud of rich and poor, 

Ring in redress to all mankind. 

Ring out a slowly dying cause 
And ancient forms of party strife ; 



Ring in the nobler modes of life, 
With sweeter manners, purer laws. 

Eing out false pride in place and blood, 
The civic slander and the spite ; 
Ring in the love of truth and right, 

Ring in the common love of good. 

Ring out old shapes of foul disease, 
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold; 
Ring out the thousand wars of old, 

Ring in the thousand years of peace. 

T*ing in the valiant man and free, 
The larger heart, the kindlier hand ; 
Eing out the darkness of the land, 

Uing in the Christ that is to be. 

Alfred Tennyson. 



MlSCKLLAXKiM v 



491 



THE MONEYLESS MAX. 



13 there no place on the face of the earth, 
When- charitj dwelleth, where virtue has birth? 
OTi Where bosome in mercy and kindness will heave, 
T When the poor and the wretched shall ask and 
receive? 

Is there no place at all, where a knook from the i r, 

Will bring a kind angel to open the door? 
Ah, search the wide world wherever you can, 
There is no open door for the Monej Less Man. 

Go. look in yon ball where the chandelier's 
Drives off with ii- splendor the darkness "i night, 
Where the rich banging vclvel in shadowy fold 
Sweeps gracefully down with its trimmings oi gold, 
And the mil roi - -i silver take up and renew 
In long lighted vistas the wildering \ lew : 
Go there I al the banquet, and find ii yon can, 
A welcoming smile for a moneyless Man. 

Go, look In yon church of the cloud-reaching spire, 
Which gives to the Bun bis same look of red Are, 

Where the arches and '-,,11111111- are gorg 1- within, 

And ili«' walls Beem as pure as the soul without sin; 
Walk down the long aisles, see the rich and the great 

In the 1 ro and the pride oi their worldly estate; 

Walk down iis your patches, and And, if you can 
Who opens a pew to a Moneyless Man! 



(.... look in the Banks, where Mammon has told 
His hundreds and thousands ol silver and gold; 
Where, safe from the hand- of the starving and poor, 
Lies pile upon pile ol the glittering ore! 
Walk up to their counters— ah, there you maj stay 

Till y ■ limbs grow old, till 5 ■ hair- grow gray, 

And you'll find at the Banks not one oi the clan 
With money to lend to the moneyless Man. 

Go, look to yon Judge, in bis dark flowing gown, 
With the scales wherein Law weighetb equitj down; 
Where he frow ns on the weak and smiles on tin- Btrong, 
And punishes right whilst he justifies wrong; 
juries their lips to the Bible have laid, 
To render a verdict they've already made: 

Go there, in th irt-room, and find, it you can, 

Any law for the cause oi a M syless Man. 

Then u r " to y ■ hovel— no raven has fe I 

The wife who has suffered too long for her bread; 
Kneel down i>\ ber pallet, and kiss the death-frost 
I loin the lips oi the angel your povertj lost, 
Then nun in your agony upward to I rod, 
And bless, whil'- ii smites you. the chastening rod, 
And you'll And, at the end ol your life's little -pan. 
There's a welcome above for a Monej less Man. 

lli-sia T. Stanton. 



MAY I JOTX Tin-; (Ih >ii; INVISIBLE. 



MAY T join the choir Invisible 
W Of those Immortal dead w ho live again 
' In mind- mad,' better by their presence; live 

In pulses stirred to generosity, 

In d 1- of daring rectitudi . in scorn 

Of miserable aims thai end with self. 

In thoughts BUblime that pierce the night like -tar-. 
And with their mild persistence urge men's mind- 
To vaster issues. 

So to live Is heaven: 
To make undying music in th,' world. 
Breathing a beauteous order, that control-; 

With growing sway the growing life of man. 
So we inherit that sweet purity 
For which we struggled, failed, and agonized 
With widening retrospect that bred despair. 
Rebellious flesh that would not he subdued, 

A vicious parent shaming still it< child. 
Poor anxious penitence. i< quick dissolved; 
It- discords quenched by meeting harmonies, 
Die in the large and charitable air. 
And all our rarer, better, truer -elf. 

That sobbed religiously in yearning song, 



That watched i" ease the burden of the world, 
Laboriously tracing what must be, 

And what may yet be better,— Saw within 

A worthier Image for the sanctuary . 

And shaped ii forth before the multitude, 

Dlvinel] human, raising worship so 

To higher reverence more mixed with love, — 

That heiter self -hall live till human Time 
Shall fold it- eyelids, and the human -ky 

Be gathered like a scroll within the tomb. 
Unread for ever. 

This i- life to come, 
Which martyred men have made more glorious 
For 11-. who strive to follow. 

May I reach, 

That purest heaven.— be tO other BOUlS 

Th,- cup of strength in - great agony, 

Enkindle generous ardor, feed pure love, 
Beget the smiles that have no cruelty, 
lie the sweet presence of a good diffused, 
And in diffusion ever more intense! 
So shall I join the choir invisible, 
Whose music is the gladness of the world. 

Marian Evans Levtes Cross (George Eliot). 



492 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 




One of the very best matches ; 

Both are well mated in life ; 
She's got a fool for a husband, 

And he's got a fool for a wife. 



THE MODERN BELLE. 

tHE daughter sits in the parlor, 
And rocks in her easy-chair; 
*ff^ She is dressed in silks and satins, 
J4 And jewels are in her hair; 

She winks, and giggles, and simpers, 

And simpers, and giggles, and wiuks; 
And though she talks but little, 
It's vastly more than she thinks. 

Her father goes clad in russet — 

All brown and seedy at that; 
His coat is out at the elbows, 

And he wears a shocking bad hat. 
He is hoarding and saving his dollars, 

So carefully, day by day, 
"While she on her whims and fancies 

Is squandering them all away. 

She lies in bed of a morning 

Until the hour of noon, 
Then comes down, snapping and snarling 

Because she's called too soon. 
Her hair is still in papers, 

Her cheeks still bedaubed with paint — 
Remains of last night's blushes 

Before she attempted to faint. 

Her feet are so very little, 

Her hands are so very white, 
Her jewels so very heavy, 

And her head so very light; 
Her color is made of cosmetics — 

Though this she'll never own; 
Her body is mostly cotton, 

And her heart is wholly stone. 

She falls in love with a fellow 
Who swells with a foreign air ; 

He marries her for her money, 
She marries him for his hair — 




, AUNT TABITHA. 

^Ta^IIATEVER I do and whatever I say, 
Stilly Aunt Tabitha tells me that isn't the way, 
sffpC When she was a girl (forty summers ago), 
t] Aunt Tabitha tells me they never did* so. 

Dear aunt! If I only would take her advice — 
But I like my own way, and I find it so nice! 
And besides I forget half the things I am told ; 
But they all will come back to me — when I am old. 
If a youth passes by, it may happen no doubt, 
He may chance to look in as I chance to look out; 
She would never endure an impertinent stare, 
It is horrid, she says, and I musn't sit there. 

A walk in the moonlight has pleasure, I own, 
But it isn't quite safe to be walking alone; 
So I take a lad's arm — just for safety, you know — 
But Aunt Tabitha tells me, they didn't do so. 

How wicked we are, and how good they were then! 
They kept at arm's length those detestable men; 
What an era of virtue she lived in! — but stay — 
Were the men such rogues in Aunt Tabitha's day? 

If the men were so wicked — I'll ask my papa 
How he dared to propose to my darling mamma? 
Was he like the rest of them? goodness! who knows? 
And what shall I say, if a wretch should propose? 

I am thinking if aunt knew so little of sin, 
What a wonder Aunt Tabitha's aunt must have been! 
And her grand-aunt — it scares me — how shockingly- 
sad 
That we girls of to-day are so frightfully bad! 

A martyr will save us, and nothing else can; 
Let us perish to rescue some wretched young man ! 
Though when to the altar a victim I go, 
Aunt Tabitha '11 tell me — she never did so. 

Oliver Wendell Holmes. 



MISCKI.I.WI.ol S. 



493 



PRO VIDE M-K. 



HOBTasa mother, with sweet, ploua face, 

«i£_ Yearns toward her little ehildren inun her 
seat, 
I Gives one a kiss, another an embrace. 



To this a look, to that a word dispenses, 
And, whether -tern or smiling, loves them still; 

So Providence for us, high, infinite, 
Make- our necessities its watchful task, 




lakes (lii- upon her k a, and on her feel : 

Ami while from actions, look, complaints, pretences, 
She learns their feelings, and their various 
will, 



Hearkens to all our prayers, helps all our wants, 
And even if il denies whal seems our right, 

Either denies because 't would have us ask, 
Or seems bul to deny, or in denj log grants. 




RHYMES OF THE MONTH! 



.-•' • JANUARY. 

'aMT'KATTI stormy skies the wintry blast 
'A \ Sweeps ,,-,,■ the hill and down the vale. 
*'< While ehildren 'round the fanner's hearth 
it the merry fireside tale. 



FEBRUARY. 
The forests with their icy plumes 

Are radiant with the rising miu, 
Or sparkle like an armed host 

Before the closing day i- don« 



45?4 



THE EOYAL GALLERY. 




" The earth 
MARCH. 

Now falls the snow, the sleet, the rain, 
And raging tempests fill the sky — 



APRIL. 

Now comes the warm and genial rain, 
The green earth charms once more the eye 




And on the meadc 
The polished scythe ; 



A moment — and the sun peers through 
Where clouds with golden edges lie. 



The tender hud, the early flower, 
Look up to greet the mild blue sky. 



MISl l.l.l. W E01 - 



495 



MAT. 

All nature Bprings to life once more, 
The ear tb j g B eJ with many a gem; 

Ami while the stars al eve look down, 
The modest flower looks up to them. 



.iii.i . 
The sky grows dark, and chains of fire 

Run through the clouds with dazzling sheen: 
The thirsty earth drinks up tin- storm, 

The bow "i promise now is seen. 




The vine creeps forth, the daisy blooms, 
The very air i~ filled w iili song; 

The tall grass bends with graceful curve 
When sweeps Ui<' summer breeze along. 



\i i.l ST. 

u man and beasl alike repair 

cooling Bbade and running stream, 

1 ..ii the meadow —in the field— 
be polished scythe and sickle gleam. 

SEPTl KB! i:. 

The golden grain glows In the sun 
\\ hose raj - are scarcelj fell at n : 

The maid and >\\:iin at eve enjoj 
The barvesl and the hunter's moon. 

oi roBi i.-. 
. leaf i- touched with :iu r ''. 
An. I fades and shivers in the breeze 
Whose mournful whispering now is heard 
Among the naked forest tr< es. 

\.>\ I Ml'.l K. 

The mountain-tops are clad with snow, 
The hills and vales look bare and gray; 

The i ii shines on the gleaming lake, 

And sparkles clown the frozen bay. 

DECT MB! R. 

The north winds !i<>\\1 with dismal waal, 

\n.l earth and sky see old and drear; 

The loud storm swells the grand refrain— 
!§he anthem o'f the dying year. 

Clark Jillson. 



^7f ■ I>,()()K is :l living voire. Tt is a spirit walking on the face of the earth. It 
i^*s continues to be the living thoughl of a person separated from us by space and 
time. Men pass away: monuments crumble into dust — what remains and survives is 
human thought. 



496 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



BEAUTIFUL SNOW. 



jflis THE snow, the beautiful snow, 
l^P Filling the sky and the earth below. 
"t^C 9 Over the house-tops, over the street, 
ll Over the heads of the people you meet, 
Dancing, 

Flirting, 

Skimming along, 
Beautiful snow, it can do nothing wrong. 
Flying to kiss a fair lady's cheek ; 
Clinging to lips in a frolicsome freak. 
Beautiful snow, from the heavens above, 
Pure as an angel and fickle as love ! 

O the snow, the beautiful snow ! 
How the flakes gather and laugh as they go ! 
Whirling about in its maddening fun, 
It plays in its glee with every one. 
Chasing, 

Laughing, 

Hurrying by, 
It lights up the face and it sparkles the eye ; 
And even the dogs, with a bark and a bound, 
Snap at the crystals that eddy around. 
The town is alive, and its heart in a glow 
To welcome the coming of beautiful snow. 

How the wild crowd goes swaying along, 
Hailing each other with humor and song! 
How the gay sledges like meteors flash by, — 
Bright for a momeut, then lost to the eye. 
Ringing, 

Swinging, 

Dashing they go 
Over the crest of the beautiful snow : 
Snow so pure when it falls from the sky, 
To be trampled in mud by the crowd rushing by ; 
To be trampled and tracked by the thousands of feet 
Till it blends with the horrible filth in the street. 



Once I was pure as the snow, — but I felt: 
Fell, like the snow-flakes, from heaven — to hell.- 
Fell, to be tramped as the filth of the street : 
Fell, to be scoffed, to be spit on, and beat. 
Pleading, 

Cursing, 

Dreading to die, 
Selling my soul to whoever would buy, 
Dealing in shame for a morsel of bread, 
Hating the living and fearing the dead. 
Merciful God! have I fallen so low? 
And yet I was once like this beautiful snow ! 

Once I was fair as the ^eautiful snow, 
With an eye like its crystals, a heart like its glow; 
Once I was loved for my innocent grace,— 
Flattered and sought for the charm of my face. 
Father, 
Mother, 

•Sisters all, 
God, and myself I have lost by my fall. 
The veriest wretch that goes shivering by 
Will take a wide sweep, lest I wander too nigh: 
For of all that is on or about me, I know 
There is nothing that's pure but the beautiful snow. 

How strange it should be that this beautiful snow 
Should fall on a sinner with nowhere to go ! 
How strange it would be, when the night comes again, 
If the snow and the ice struck my desperate brain! 
Fainting, 

Freezing, 

Dying alone, 
Too wicked for prayer, too weak for my moan 
To be heard in the crash of the crazy town, 
Gone mad in its joy at the snow's coming down; 
To lie and to die in my terrible woe, 
With a bed and a shroud of the beautiful snow ! 

James W. Watson. 



EVERY 

TjhrllE spring has less of brightness, 
Jill Every year ; 

'* I J'* , And the snow a ghastlier whiteness, 
| Every year; 

I Nor do summer flowers quicken, 
Nor the autumn fruitage thicken, 
As they once did, for they sicken, 
Every year. 

It is growing darker, colder, 

Every year; 
As the heart and soul grow older, 

Every year ; 



YEAR. 



I care not now for dancing. 
Or for eyes with passion glancing, 
Love is less and less entrancing. 
Every year. 

Of the love and sorrows blended, 

Every year; 
Of the charms of friendship ended, 

Every year; 
Of the ties that still might bind me, 
Until time to death resign me 
My infirmities remind me, 

Every year. 



MISCELLAN'KOl'S. 



437 



Ah! how sad to look before as, 

Every year; 
While the cloud grows darker o'er as, 

Every year; 
When we Bee the blossoms faded, 
Thai i" bloom we might have aided, 
Ami Immortal garlands braided, 

Every year. 

To the past go more dead (aces, 

Everj year; 
A> the loved leave vacant places, 

Everj year; 
Everywhere the sad eyes meet as, 
In the evening's dusk the] greet as, 
And i" come to them entreat u~, 
pear. 

•• You are grow in^ old," they tell as, 

•• Everj year; 
You arc more alone," they tel] us, 

■• Every year; 



■. ^><r _ 



You can win do new affection; 
Sou have only recollection, 
Deeper sorrow and dejection, 
Every year." 

Yes! the shores ol life are -hiftiug, 

Everj year; 
And «c are seaward drifting, 

Everj j ear; 
Olil places, changing, fret us, 
The living more forget us 
There are fewer to regret us, 

Every year. 

I5ui ilir truer life draw s nigher, 

Every year; 
Ami its Morning-Star climbs higher 

Everj year; 
Earth's hold on us grows slighter, 
Ami the beavj burden lighter, 
Ami the daw a Immortal brighter, 

Everj year. 

Albkbt Pike. 



THE WINGED WORSHIPERS. 

[During the cfa latic birds llcw in and perched upon the 



AY. guiltless pair. 

What k ye from the fields "i heaven? 

Ye have no i >i of prayer, 

Ye have no sins i" be forgiven. 

Why perch ye here, 
Whirc mortals to their Maker bend? 

( Ian your pun' spirits fear 
The I tod ye never could offend! 

Ye never knew 
The crimes for which we come to weep; 

Penance Is not for you, 
Blessed wanderers of the upper deep. 

To you 'tis given 
To wake sweet nature's untaugbl lays, 

Beneath the arch of heaven 
To chirp away a life of praise 



Then spread each wing 
Far, far above, o'er lake- and lands, 

And join the choirs that ~\n-j, 
In yon blue dome not reared with hands. 

Or. if ye stay 
To note the consecrated hour, 

Teach the airy way. 

And let me try j our em ied power. 

Above the crowd, 

On upward wings COUld I but fly, 

I'll bathe in yon bright cloud, 
And seek the stars that gem the sky. 

Twere heaven indeed 
Through fields of trackless light to soar, 

(•u nature's charms to feed, 
And nature's ow n great God adore. 

Chabues Spbague. 



NIGHT AXD DEATH. 




3TERIOTJS night ! when our first parent knew 
from reporl Divine, and heard thy name, 
l >i'l he not tremble for this lovely frame, 
This glorious canopy of light and 1 . 1 1 1 . ■ .- 
Yet, 'neath a curtain <>f translucent dew, 
Bathed in the ray- of the great setting flame, 
Hesperus, with the host of heaven, came, 



And l"! creation widened in man's view. 
Who coulil have thought -ii'-h ilarkm'" lay < 
Within thj beams, <> sun! or who could find, 
Whilst fly and leaf and Insect stood revealed, 
Thai i" such countless orbs thou mad'st us blind? 
Why il" we, then, shun death with anxious strife? 
If light can thus deceive, wherefore not life? 

Joseph Blanco White. 



498 



THE KOYAL GALLEKY. 




FORTITUDE. 



NOBLE fortitude in ills delights 

Heaven, earth, ourselves ; 'tis duty, glory, peace. 

Affliction is the good man's shining scene; 

Prosperity conceals his brightest ray ; 

As night to stars, woe lustre gives to man. 



Heroes in battle, pilots in the storm, 

And virtue in calamities, admire. 

The crown of manhood is a winter joy; 

An evergreen, that stands the northern blast, 

And blossoms in the rigor of our fate. 

Edward Yotjng. 



MISI 1. 1. 1. AM.nl S. 

OUB, MOTHER TON* . ( " E. 



499 



jOW gather all our Saxon bards— let harpa and And lands for which the Bouthern crosshanga orhil 
hearts l»- Btrung, Area on high. 

To celebrate the triumphs ol ■ own u r I It goes with all that prophets told and righteous kin^s 



Saxon tongue! 




For stronger Car than hosts thai inarch with battle- 
flags unfurled, 

It goes with freedom, (bought, and truth to rouse and 
rule the world. 

Stout Albion hears it- household lays on every surf- 
worn Bhore, 

And Scotland hears Its echoing far as < Orkney's break- 
ers roar; 

It climbs New England's rocky steeps as victor 
mounts a throne; 

Niagara knows and greets the voice, still mightier than 
it- own; 

It spreads where winterpiles deep snows on bleak 
Canadian plain-: 

And where, on Essequibo's banks, eternal sun r 

reigns. 

It tracks the loud, swif I Oregon, through Biuiset val- 
leys rolled, 

Ami soars where California brooks wash down their 
sands of gold. 

It kindles realms so far apart that while Its praise you 
sing, 

These may be clad with autumn's fruits, and those 
n Ith flowers of spring. 

It quickens landswhose meteor lights flame in an 
Arctic sky, 



desired; 

With all that great apostles taught and 

glorious < .ieek- admired : 
With Shakespeare's deep and won 

verse, and Milton's lofty mind : 
\\ in. Allied'- law - and Newton's L 

cheer and bless mankind. 
.Mark, as ii spreads, how deserts bloom, 

and error flees away. 
As vanishes the mist ol nigl 

star "i daj ! 
Take heed, th< - ixon tame- 

take heed, uor om 
With recreant pen nor spoiling sword, 

our noble tongue and race! 
q, and jointlj -| d the tin 

g I in' n |.i.r. ■ d for long, 

\\ hen ' hristian states, grow a jusl and 

w ise, « ill Bcorn revenge and wt 
w h. n earth's oppressed and Bavage tribes 

shall cease t" pine or roam, 




' Lands whose meteor lights flame in an Arctic sky." 

.,„ All taught i" prize these English words— Faith, 
Ik! i dom, Heaven, and Bonn . 

j. G. Lyons. 

-■ 



JKt is well known that ho seldom lives frugally who lives by chance. Hope is .always 
*** liberal, and they that trust her promises make little scruple of reveling to-dav 
on the profit- of to-morrow. 



500 



THE EOYAL GALLERY. 



THE HARP THAT ONCE THROUGH TARA'S HALLS. 



iYlTHE harp that once through Tara's h; 
L-A4 The soul of music shed, 
/[%: Now hangs as miite on Tara's walls 
»I* As if that soul were fled. 
So sleeps the pride of former days, 

So glory's thrill is o'er, 
And hearts that once heat high for praise 

Now feel that pulse no more ! 



No more to chiefs and ladies bright 

The harp of Tara swells ; 
The chord alone that breaks at night 

Its tale of ruin tells. 
Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes, 

Tfee only throb she gives 
Is when some heart indignant breaks, 

To show that still she lives. 

Thomas Mooke. 



-*-™/Z£^ZK*s-i 



THE VAGABONDS. 



jE are two travelers, Roger and I. 

Roger's my dog: — come here, you scamp! 
Jump for the gentlemen, — mind your eye ! 

Over the table, — look out for the lamp ! — 
The rogue is growing a little old ; 
Five years we've tramped through wind and 
weather, 
And slept out-doors when nights were cold, 
And ate and drank — and starved together. 

We've learned what comfort is, I tell you! 

A bed on the floor, a bit of rosin, 
A fire to thaw our thumbs (poor fellow ! 

The paw he holds up there 's been frozen) , 
Plenty of catgut for my fiddle, 

(This out-door business is bad for strings) , 
Then a few nice buckwheats hot from the griddle, 

And Roger and I set up for kings! 

No, thank ye, sir, — I nev§r drink; 

Roger and I are exceedingly moral, — 
Are n't we, Roger? — see him wink ! — 

Well, something hot, then, — we won't quarrel. 
He's thirsty, too, — see him nod his head ! 

What a pity, sir, that dogs can't talk! 
He understands every word that 'ssaid, — 

And he knows good milk from water-and-chalk. 

The truth is, sir, now I reflect, 

I've been so sadly given to grog, 
I wonder I've not lost the respect 

(Here's to you, sir!) even of my dog. 
But he sticks by, through thick and thin; 

And this old coat, with its empty pockets, 
And rags that smell of tobacco and gin, 

He '11 follow while he has eyes in his sockets. 

There is n't another creature living 

Would do it, and prove, through every disaster, 
So fond, so faithful, and so forgiving, 

To such a miserable, thankless master! 
No, sir! — see him wag his tail and grin! 

By George ! it makes my old eyes water ! 
That is, there's something in this gin 

That chokes a fellow. But no matter! 



We'll bave some music, if you're willing, 

And Roger (hem! what a plague a cough is, sir!) 
Shall march a little. — Start, you villain! 

Stand straight! 'Bout face! Salute your officer! 
Put up that paw ! Dress ! Take your rifle ! 

(Some dogs have arms, you see !) Now hold your 
Cap while the gentlemen give a trifle, 

To aid a poor old patriot soldier ! 



March! Halt! Now show how the rebel 

When he stands up to hear his sentence. 
Now tell us how many drams it takes 

To honor a jolly new acquaintance. 
Five yelps, — that's Ave; he's mighty knowing! 

The night's before us, fill the glasses ! — 
Quick, sir! I'm ill, — my brain is going! 

Some brandy, — thank you, — there! — it passes! 

Why not reform? That's easily said; 

But I've gone through such wretched treatment, 
Sometimes forgetting the taste of bread, 

And scarce remembering what meat meant, 
That my poor stomach's past reform ; 

And there are times when, mad with thinking, 
I'd sell out heaven for somethiug warm 

To prop a horrible inward sinking. 

Is there a way to forget to think? 

At your age, sir, home, fortune, friends, 
A dear girl's love, but I took to drink; 

Tbe same old story; you know how it ends. 
If you could have seen these classic features. — 

You need n't laugh, sir, they were not then 
Such a burning libel on God's creatures : 

I was one of your handsome men ! 

If you had seen her, so fair and young, 

Whose head was happy on this breast! 
If you could have heard the songs I sung 

When the wine went round, you would n't have 
guessed 
That ever I, sir, should be straying 

From door to door, with fiddle and dog, 
Ragged and penniless, and playing 

To you to-night for a glass of grog! 






IOSCELLANE01 3. 



501 



She's married Bince,— a parson's wife: 

"J' was better for her thai we Bhould part,— 
Better the Boberest, prosiesl life 

Than ;t blasted home and a broken heart 
1 have Been her? Once: 1 was weak and spent 

On the dustj road, a carriage stopped: 
But little she dreamed, as on she went, 

Who kissed the coin thai her Angers dropped! 
Yon »ve Bel me talking, Bir; I'm sorry : 

li makes me wild to think ol the change! 
Whal do you care for a beggar's Btory? 

I- it :iimi~i ii^ r you And it strange? 
I bad a mother so proud oi me! 

Twas wellshedied before— Doyou know 
If the happy Bpirits in heaven can see 
The roln and wretchedness here below i 



Another glass, and strong, to deaden 
This pain; then Bogerand I will Man. 

I wonder, has he such a I pish, leaden, 

Aching thing, in place of a heart? 
Be is sad sometimes, and would weep, it he could, 
No doubt, remembering things thai were,— 

A virtuous kennel, with plentj ol i I. 

And himsell a sober, respectable cur! 
I 'm better now; thatglass was wanning. 

S "u rascal! limber your lazj feet! 
Vvemusl be Addling and performing 

For supper and bed, or starve in the street 
Nol a eerj gaj life to lead, jrou think? 

Bat soon we shall go where lodgings are free, 
And the Bieepers need neither victuals uor drink:— 
The sooner the better for Bogerand me! 

Jons Towxsend Trowbridge. 



UNIVERSAL PUAVi;i; 



f.VTirER <d all! in every age, 
in every dime adored, 
By saint by Bavage, and by Bage, 
Jehovah, Jove, or Lord! 

Thou Greal Firsl Cause, leasl understood, 

Who ail mj Bense confined 
To know but this, thai thou art good, 

And thai myself am blind: 

Yel gave me, in this dark estate, 

1 theg I from ill; 

And binding nature fasl In fate, 

i-'it free the human will. 

Whal conscience dictates to be done, 

Or warn- me not t,, do; 
This teach me more than hell to shun, 
'That more than heaven pursue. 

Whai blessings thy free bounty gives 

Let me not casl away: 

For God Is paid when man receives: 
To enjoy i< to obej . 

Tel not to earth's contracted -pan 

Thy goodness lei me hound. 
Or think '' Lord alone of man. 

When thousand worlds are round. 

J.et nol this weak unknowing hand 
Presume thy bolts to throw, 



And deal damnation round the land 
On each I judge thj foe. 

"" I am right thj grace impart 

Still in the righl to staj ; 
If I am wrong, o teach mj heart 

To And that better waj . 

Save me alike from lish pride 

Or Impious discontent, 
Ai aughl thy wisdom has denied, 

'"' aughl thj g loess lent. 

Teach me to feel another's uor, 

To hid,- the i mih i see: 
That mercy I to others show, 

Thai mercy show to me. 

Mean though l am, nol whollj so, 
Since quickened bj thj breath; 
(» lead me, u ii 

igh this days life or death! 

This day he bread and peace my lot: 

All else beneath the sun 
T! know'8l it i.e. i bestowed or not 

And lei thy will be done. 

To Hi e, whose temple Is all .pace. 

Wnose altar earth, sea, skies! 
One chorus lei all being raise! 

All nature's incense rise! 

Alexander Pope. 



EP! 



E t:.lk,iiv,. listen to no one. for they are ever speaking. And the first evil that 
attends those who know not to be silent is, that they hear nothing. 



502 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 




THE COLLEGE REGATTA. 



j?HE immortal boy, the coming heir of all, 

1 Springs from his desk to " urge the flying ball," 



Cleaves with his bending oar the glassy waves, 
With sinewy arm the dashing current braves. 
Oliver Wendell Holmes. 




" Now to their mates the wild swans row 



EVENING. 



|HE sun upon the lake is low, 
I The wild birds hush their song, 
^ The hills have evening's deepest glow, 
Yet Leonard tarries long. 



Now all whom varied toil and care 
From home and love divide, 

In the calm sunset may repair 
Each to the loved one's side. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 



503 



The noble dame on turret high, 
Who waits her gallant knight, 
Looks to the western beam Co spy 

The flash of armor bright 
The village maid, with hand on brow 

The level ray i" shade, 
Upon tli«' footpath watches ii<>\\ 
For Colin's darkening plaid. 



Sow to their mates the wild swans row. 

By daj thej Bwam apart, 
An. I to the thicket wanders slow 

The hind beside the hart. 
The w Hark at his partner's side 

Tu itters his closing song — 
All meet whom daj and care divide, 

Bui Leonard tarries long! 

Sib w m.h.k Scott. 




CHILDREN'S THANKFULNESS. 



OT in vain, when feasts are spread, 
To the youngest at the board 

J' v Call we to incline the head 

>v And pronounce the solemn word. 

Wot in vain they clasp and raise 
The pure soft angers In unconscious praise, 

Taught perchance by pictured wall 
How litti,. ones before the Lord may fall, 

Bow to Ili> loved caress 
Beach out the restless arm. and near and nearer 

press. 



( !hildren in their joyous ranks. 

\- 5 on pace thi \ (llage street, 
Fill the air with smiled and thanks 
li inn once one bahe you greet. 
Never weary, never dim, 
From Thrones Seraphic mounts th' eternal hymn. 

- Hid anirel- uriidu-c I,,, praise: — 
But eider souls, i" whom Bis saving ways 

Are open, fearless take 
Their portion, hear the Grace, and no meek answei 
make. 

Johx Keble. 



504 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



NORVAL. 



|Y name is Norval : on the Grampian hills 
My father feeds his flocks ; a frugal swain, 
jn^s. Whose constant cares were to increase his store, 
jj And keep his only sou, myself, at home. 
For I had heard of battles, and I longed 
To follow to the field some warlike lord : 
And Heaven soon granted what my sire denied. 
This moon which rose last night, round as my 

shield, 
Had not yet filled her horns, when, by her light, 
A band of fierce barbarians, from the hills, 
Rushed like a torrent down upon the vale, 
Sweeping our flocks and herds. The shepherds fled 
For safety and for succor. I alone, 
With bended bow, and quiver full of arrows, 
Hovered about the enemy, and marked 
The road he took, then hastened to my friends, 



Whom, with a troop of fifty chosen men, 

I met advancing. The pursuit I led, 

Till we o'ertook the spoil-encumbered foe. 

We fought and conquered. Ere a sword was drawn 

An arrow from my bow had pierced their chief, 

Who wore that day the arms which now I wear. 

Returning home in triumph, I disdained 

The shepherd's slothful life ; and having heard 

That our good king had summoned his bold peers 

To lead their warriors to the Carron side, 

I left my father's house, and took with me 

A chosen servant to conduct my steps, — 

Yon trembling coward, who forsook his master. 

Journeying with this intent, I passed these towers, 

And, Heaven-directed, came this day to do 

The happy deed that gilds my humble name. 

John Home. 



MY CREED. 



SS other men have creed, so have I mine : 
s I keep the holy faith in God, in man, 
And in the angels ministrant between ; 
I hold to one true church of all true souls, 
Whose churchly seal is neither bread nor wine, 
Nor laying-on of hands, nor holy oil, 
But only the anointing of God's grace; 

I hate all kings and caste and rank of birth, 

For all the sons of man are sons of God; 

Nor limps a beggar but is nobly born, 

Nor wears a slave a yoke, nor czar a crown, 

That makes him more or less than just a man; 

I love my country and her righteous cause, 

So dare I not keep silent of her sin ; 

And after freedom may her bells ring peace ! 

I love one woman with a holy fire, 
Whom I revere as priestess of my house ; 



3^<r-^_ 



I stand with wondering awe before my babes 

Till they rebuke me to a nobler life ; 

I keep a faithful friendship with a friend 

Whom loyally I serve before myself; 

I lock my lips too close to speak a lie, 

I wash my hands too white to touch a bribe; 

I owe no man a debt I cannot pay, 

Save only of the love men ought to owe; 

Withal, each day, before the blessed Heaven, 

I open wide the chambers of my soul 

And pray the Holy Ghost to enter in. 

Thus reads the fair confession of my faith, 
So crossed with contradictions of my life, 
That now may God forgive the written lie ! 
Yet still, by help of Him who helpeth men, 
I face two worlds, and fear not life nor death. 
O Father, lead me by Thy hand ! Amen. 

Theodore Tilton. 



O SWEET WILD ROSES THAT BUD AND BLOW. 



W SWEET wild roses that bud and blow, 
# Along the way that my Love may go; 
b> O moss-green rocks that touch her dress, 
And grass that her dear feet may press ; 

O maple-tree, whose brooding shade 
For her a summer tent has made ; 
O golden-rod and brave sunflower 
That flame before my maiden's bower; 

O butterfly, on whose light wings 
The golden summer sunshine clings ; 



O birds that flit o 'er wheat and wall, 
And from cool hollows pipe and call ; 

O falling water, whose distant roar 
Sounds like the waves upon the shore; 
O winds that down the valley sweep, 
And lightnings from the clouds that leap; 

O skies that bend above the hills, 
O gentle rains and babbling rills, 
O moon and sun that beam and burn — 
Keep safe my Love till I return ! 

Richard Watson Gilder. 



MISCELLAM <M -v 



505 



TO A BEREAVED MOTITETC. 



Qfl'RE, to the mansions of tin- blest 

KJ. Wlit-n infant innoeence a-eeuds, 

flu: Some angel, brighter than the rest, 
|l? The spotless spirit's flighl attends. 
On « Ings "i ecstasj they rise, 

Beyond where worlds material roll, 
Till some fair sister of the skies 

Receives the unpolluted soul. 
Thai inextinguishable beam, 

With dust united at our birth, 
Bheds a more dim, discolored gleam 

The more ii lingers upon earth. 

But when the Lord of mortal breath 

Decrees 1 1 i — bountj t" resume 
And points the silent shaft of death 

Which speeds an infant to the tomb, 
No passion fierce, nor low desire 

Baa quenched the radiance oJ the flame; 



-V." -. ■ 



Back to its God, tin' living lire 

Reverts, unclouded as it came. 
Fond mourner, be that solace thine! 

Let Hope ber dealing charm impart, 
Ami soothe, with melodies divine, 

The anguish of a mother's heart. 

Oh think! the darlings of thy love, 

Divested of this earthly clod, 
Ami'l unnumbered saints, above, 

Bask in the bosom "i their God. 
O'er thee, w ith looks ol love, they bend; 

For thee the Lord of life implore; 
An. I ofl from sainted bliss descend 

Thy wounded spirit to restore. 
Then drj , henceforth, the bitter ti 

Their part and thine inverted see ; 
Thou wert their guardian angel here, 

Thej guardian angels now to thee! 

John Qi i\c ^ Adaus. 



TIIK ['Al'PEIfS DIIIVE. 



ERE'S a grim one-horse hearse in a jolly round 

trot.— 

vr^' To the churchyard a pauper is going I wot; 
*jr The road it is rough, and tin' hearse has do 
springs; 
And hark to the dirge n hich the Bad driver sings : 
Rattle his bones over the stones! 
He"- only a pauper, whom nobody owns; 

O, where are the mourners? Alas: there are none. — 

He has left not a gap in the world, now he'- gone, — 
Not a tear in the eye of Child, woman, or man ; 

To the grave with his carcass as fast as you can : 

Rattle hi- I es over the stone-! 

He's only a pauper. whom nobody oti ub! 

What a jolting, and creaking, and splashing, and 

il i ii. 

The whip how it cracks! and the wheel- how they spin! 
How the dirt, right and left, o'er the hedges is hurled. — 
The pauper at length make- a noise in the world! 
Rattle his bone- over the -tone-: 
He's ouly a pauper, whom nobody ow us! 



Poor pauper defuncl ! he has made some approach 
To gentilitj . now that he's Btretched In a coach! 
He's taking a drive in his carriage at last; 
Km it « ill not be long, ii he goes on bo fast : 
Rattle his bones over the stones! 

He's only a pauper, whom nobody own-: 

You bumpkin-! who -tare at your brother conveyed,— 

Behold what respect to a cloddy i- paid: 

And be joyful to think, when by death you're laid 

low. 

Tou've a chance to the grave like a genunan to go! 
Rattle hi- bones over the stones! 
He's only a pauper, whom nobody owns! 

But a truce to this -train: for my SOU] it is -ad. 
To think that a heart in humanity clad 
Should make, like the brutes, such a desolate end, 
And depart from the light without leaving a friend ' 

Hear -oft hi- I - o\er the -t ■-: 

Though a pauper, he's one whom hi- Maker yet 
own-: 

Thomas Noel. 



LIGHT. 



•HE nighl has a thousand eyes. 
I The day but one; 
Yet the light of the bright world dies 
With the dying sun. 



The mind has a thousand eyes, 

And the heart but one; 
Yet the light of a whole life dies 

When its love is done. 

Francis W. Bourdillon. 



506 



THE ROYAL GALLEEY. 



MAUD.MULLEE, 



^TH^AIID MULLER, on a summer's day, 
;A¥A, Raked the meadow sweet with hay. 



JI 



Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth 
Of simple beauty and rustic health. 

Singing, she wrought, and her merry glee 
The mock-bird echoed from his tree. 

But, when she glanced to the far-off town, 
White from its hill-slope looking down, 

The sweet song died, and a vague unrest 
And a nameless longing rilled her breast, — 



And blushed as she gave it, looking down 
On her feet so bare, and her tattered gown. 

" Thanks!" said the Judge, "a sweeter draught 
From a fairer hand was never quaffed." 

He spoke of the grass and flowers and trees, 
Of the singing birds and the humming bees. 

Then talked of the haying, and wondered whether 
The cloud in the west would bring foul weather. 

And Maud forgot her brier-torn gown, 
And her graceful ankles, bare and brown, 




A wish, that she hardly dared to own, 
For something better than she had known. 

The Judge rode slowly down the lane, 
Smoothing his horse's chestnut mane- 



And listened, while a pleased surprise 
Looked from her long-lashed hazel eyes. 

At last, like one who for delay 

vain excuse, he rode away. 



Maud Muller looked and sighed : " Ah me! 
That I the Judge's bride might be ! 

" He would dress me up in silks so fine, 
And praise and toast me at his wine. 

" My father should wear a broadcloth coat. 
My brother should sail a painted boat. 

"I'd dress my mother so grand and gay, 
And the baby should have a new toy each day. 

"And I'd feed the hungry and clothe the poor, 
And all should bless me who left our door." 

The Judge looked back as he climbed the hill, 
And saw Maud Muller standing still : 

" A form more fair, a face more sweet, 
Ne'er hath it been my lot to meet. 

" And her modest answer and graceful air 
Show her wise and good as she is fair. 

" Would she were mine, and I to-day, 
Like her, a harvester of hay. 

" No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs, 
Nor weary lawyers with endless tongues 

" But low of cattle, and song of birds, 
And health, and quiet, and loving words." 



He drew his bridle in the shade 

Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid, 

And ask a draught from the spring that flowed 
Through the meadow, aci'oss the road. 

She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up, 
And filled for him her small tin cup, 



But he thought of his sister, proud and cold, 
And his mother, vain of her rank and gold. 

So, closing his heart, the Judge rode on, 
And Maud was left in the field alone. 

But the lawyers smiled that afternoon, 
When he hummed in court an old love tune ; 



MISCELLANEOUS. 



507 



Ami the young girl mused beside tin' well, 
Till tin- rain <>n tin- unraked clover f>-ll. 



And oft, when the summer sun shone hot 
On tlif new-mown ha\ in the meadow lot, 




Ami she heard the little spring-brook fall 
Over ili«- roadside, through the wall. 

In the shade of the apple-tree again 
She -aw a rider 'haw hi- rein, 

\imI. g izing flow n w iih a timid grace, 
his pli ased eyes read her Face. 

Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls 
Stretched awaj into Btately halls; 

The wearj wheel t" a spinnet turm d, 
The tallow candle an astral burned; 

And for him who sat bj the chimney lug, 
ad grumbling "'■ r pipe and mug, 

A manly form at her Bide she -aw. 

And j"\ '.\ a- dutj ami love was law-. 

Then she t""k np her burden "t life again, 
Saying only, --It might have been." 

Ala- tor maiden, alas for judge, 

For rich repiner and household drudge I 

(;...l pitj them both! an. I pity us all. 
Who vainlj the dreams "i youth recall; 

For "i all sad words of tongu ■ pen, 

'I'll.- saddest are these: " It might have beenl 



II. ■ wedded a wit.- of richest dower, 
Win. lived for fashion, a- he for power. 

Yet oft, in hi- marble hi arth's bright glow, 

II.- watched a picture '-.> and l:": 

Ami sweel Maud Muller's hazel eyes 
Looked out in their innocent surprise. 

Oft. when the win.- in hi- glass was red, 
II.- longed for the wayside well instead, 

Anil closed hi- eyes on hi- garnished rooms, 
'I'., dream of meadows ami clover blooms; 

Ami the proud man sighed with a secret pain, 
•■Ah. thai I were free again! 

■- 1 as w inn i rode that day 

Where tin- bare! maiden raked the hay." 

Sin- wedded a man unlearned and i r, 

Ami many children played round her door. 

But care ami sorrow, ami child-birth pain, 
Left their traces on In-art ami brain. 



Ah. well! for us all some sweet hope li.-^ 
luried fr human eyes; 




"Ami she heard tin- link- spring--hrook fall 
Over the roadside, through the wall " 

Ami. in the hereafter, angels may 
Boll the stone from it- grave away! 

John Gri i m.im Wiitttii 



508 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



DEATH THE LEYELER. 



I HE glories of our blood and state 
> Are shadows, not substantial things; 
There is no armor against fate ; 
Death lays his icy hand on kings : 
Sceptre and crown 
Must tumble down, 
And in the dust be equal made 
With the poor crooked scythe and spade. 

Some men with swords may reap the field, 
And plant fresh laurels where they kill ; 

But their strong nerves at last must yield; 
They tame but one another still : 



Early or late, 

They stoop to fate, 
And must give up their murmuring breath, 
When they, pale captives, creep to death. 

The garlands wither on your brew, 

Then boast no more your mighty deeds; 
Upon death's purple altar now 
See where the victor- victim bleeds : 
Your heads must come 
To the cold tomb; 
Only the actions of the just 
Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust. 

James Shirley. 



CATO'S SOLILOQUY ON IMMORTALITY. 



ppT must be so. — Plato, thou reasonest well! 

HI Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire, 

X This longing after immortality? 
% Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror, 
I Of falling into' naught? Why shrinks the soul 
Back on herself, and startles at destruction? 

'Tis the divinity that stirs within us; 

'Tis heaven itself that points out a hereafter, 

And intimates eternity to man. 

Eternity! — thou pleasing, dreadful thought! 

Through what variety of untried being, 

Through what new scenes and changes must we pass! 

The wide, the unbounded prospect lies before me ; 

But shadows, clouds, and darkness rest upon it. 

Here will I hold. If there 's a power above us, — 

And that there is, all Nature cries aloud 

Through all her works, — He must delight in virtue; 



And that which He delights in must be happy. 

But when? or where? This world was made for 

Caesar. 
I 'm weary of conjectures, this must end them. 

[Laying his hand on his sword.] 

Thus am I doubly armed. My death and life, 
My bane and antidote, are both before me. 
This in a moment brings me to my end ; 
But this informs me I shall never die. 
The soul, secure in her existence, smiles 
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point. 
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself 
Grow dim with age, and Nature sink in years; 
But thou shalt nourish in immortal youth, 
Unhurt amid the war of elements, 
The wreck of matter and the crush of worlds. 

Joseph Addison. 



I'M GROWING OLD. 



days pass pleasantly away ; 
My nights are blest with sweetest sleep ; 
K" I feel no symptoms of decay ; 

I have no cause to mourn or weep ; 
My foes are impotent and shy ; 

My friends are neither false nor cold ; 
And yet, of late, I often sigh, 
I 'm growing old! 

My growing talk of olden times, 
My growing thirst for early news, 

My growing apathy to rhymes, 
My growing love of easy shoes, 

My growkig hate of crowds and noise, 
My growing fear of taking cold, 

All whisper in the plainest voice, 
I 'm growing old ! 



I'm growing fonder of my staff; 

I 'm growing dimmer in the eyes; 
I 'm growing fainter in my laugh ; 

I'm growing deeper in my sighs; 
I'm growing careless of my dress; 

I 'm growing frugal of my gold ; 
I 'm growing wise ; I 'm growing — yes,- 
I 'in growing old ! 

I see it in my changing taste ; 

I see it in my changing hair; 
I see it in my growing waist ; 

I see it in my growing heir ; 
A thousand signs proclaim the truth, 

As plain as truth was ever told, 
That, even in my vaunted youth, 
I 'm growing old ! 



MISCELLANE01 - 



509 



.Mi me! my very laurels breathe 
The tale In my reluctant earn. 

And every boon the hours bequeath 
But makes me debtor to the years! 

E'eu flattery's honeyed words declare 
The secrel -he would fain « ithhold, 

And tells me in "How yoiing*you arc!* 
1 'in grow uig "1<1! 



Thanks for the years!— whose rapid flight 

Blj -i > n ii n-i muse bo Badlj sings; 
Thanks for the gleams ol golden lighl 

Thai tint the darkness ol their wings! 
The lighl thai beams from oul the -k\ , 
l bose heavenly mansions to unfold, 
Where all are blest and none maj sigh, 
•• 1 'no grow ing old ! " 

John Godfrey Saxe. 



THE SOLDIER'S DREAM. 



jjTVl'R bugles sane; rruee, — for the night-cl md had 
^' lowered. 

And the sentinel stars sel their watch in the 
J4 Bkj ; 

And thousands had Bunk on the groiuid overpowered, 
The wearj to Bleep, and the wounded to die. 

When reposing thai nighl on my pallel ol straw, 
By the wolf-scaring fagol thai guarded tie- aiain; 

Al the dead ,ii' the nighl a sweel \ i ~ i. < 1 1 l .-a-\ 
And thrice ere die morning I dream) il again. 

Methoughl from the battle-field's dreadfnJ array. 

Far, far 1 had roamed on a desolate track; 
Twas autumn, — and sunshine arose on the waj 

To the home ol on fathers, that welcomed me back. 



the pleasant fields traversed so "ft 
- morning march, n hen my bosom was young; 



I flew tc 

III life 

1 heard my ou n mountain goats bleating aloft, 

And knew the sweel -train that the corn-reapers 

Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly ' swore, 
from mj home and my weeping Mends never to 
pari ; 

My little one- kissed me a thousand time- o'er, 
And m\ wife sobbed aloud In her fullness of heart 

"Stay, stay w ith us, — rest, thou art wear] and worn;" 

And lain w a- their w ar-hrokeii SOldlCT to .-lay: — 
lint BOITOW returned w ith the daw niug of morn. 
And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away. 

Thomas Campbell. 



H UT U LyTN> 



a not; r,i:.v adiikm. 



JOU HEX ADirF.M (may his tribe Increase!) 
Awoke one nighl from a deep dream ol pi ace, 

And saw. within je mi lighl in hi- room, 

Makiuir it rich ami like n lily in bloom, 

An angel writing in a i k of gold; 

Exceeding peace hail made leu Vdhem hold. 

And to the pn sence in lie r n he said, 

"Whal writesl thou?" The vision raised his head, 
And with a look made of ail sweet accord, 
Answered. " The names ol those who love the Lord.' 



" Ind is mine one?" aid Abou. "Nay, not so," 
Replied the angel. Abou -pake more low. 

Bui cheerily -till; ami said. " I pray tl then. 

Write tin- a- one thai loves hi- fellow-men 

The angel wrote, ami vanished, lie- oexl nighl 

It earn, again withagreal wakening light, 

Ami showed the names wl love of God had 

blessed, 
And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest 

Leiuu Hunt. 



TO MY MoTIlEK. 



f%Y lir\" barren doubt like a late-coming snow 
WNi Made an unkind Deeeinher of my spring, 
F~\ Thai all the pretty flowers did droop for woe, 

And the sweel birds their love 00 more would 

sing; 
Then the remembrance of thy gentle faith. 
Mother beloved, would steal upon my heart; 
Fond feeling saved me from thai utter scathe, 
And from thy hope I could not live apart 



Now thai my mind hath passed from wintry 

And ou the ealiiud waters once again 
Ascendant Faith circles with silver plume, 
That easts a charmed shade, not now in pain, 
Thou child of Christ, in joy I think of thee, 
And mingle prayers for what we both may 
be. 

Arthi u Henry IIai.la.m. 



510 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 

THE ATHEIST AND THE ACORN. 



fgETHTNKS the world is oddly made, 
And every thing 's amiss, 
A dull presuming Atheist said, 
As stretched he lay beneath a shade. 
And instanced it in this : 



My better judgment could have hung 

The pumpkin on the tree, 
And left the acorn, lightly strung, 
'Mongst things which on the surface sprung, 

And small and feeble be. 




" As stretched he lay beneath a shade 



Behold, quoth he, that mighty thing, 
A pumpkin large and round, 

Is held but by a little string, 

Which upwards cannot make it spring, 
Or bear it from the ground. 

While on this oak an acorn small, 

So disproportioned grows; 
That who with sense surveys this all, 
This universal casual ball, 

Its ill contrivance knows. 



No more the caviller could say 

No further faults descry : 
For as he upwards gazing lay, 
An acorn, loosened from its stay, 

Fell down upon his eye. 

The wounded part with tears ran o'er, 

As punished for the sin; 
Fool ! had that bough a pumpkin bore, 
Thy whimsies would have worked no more, 

Nor skull have kept them in. 

Anne, Countess of Winchelsea. 



3^o-@_ 



"IflpOOK on your best friends with the thought that they may one day become your 
lili worst enemies," was an ancient maxim of worldly prudence. It is for us to reverse 
this maxim, and rather say: " Look on your worst enemies with the thought that they 
may one day become your best friends." 



MI>i'KLLAXi:Ors. 



511 



ih;i-:na vista. 



.'Ty'ROM the Uio Grande's waters to the ley lakee For their hosts are pouring swiftly on, like a river in 
gseM of Main.'. the spring— 

Letall .xiilt : for we have met the enemy again— Our Hank Is turned, and on our ieft their cannon thuu- 

Beneatfa their Btern old mountains, we have ' dering. 

them in their pride, 

And rolled from Buena Vista back the battle's bl Ij Now brave artillery! Bold dragoons!— Steady my 

tide: men, and calm! 

Where the enemy came surging, like the JDssi8Sippi'E Through rain, cold, hail, and Qrander; now nerve 

flood; each gallant arm ' 

And the reaper, Death, was busy, withhis sickle red What though their shot falls round us here, still thicker 

with blo.nl. than the hail! 




Lot— their battery la silenced now; our iron hail still shov 
They Falter, halt, retreat!— Hurral I 



Santa Anna boasted loudly that, before two hours We 11 stand against them, as the rock Btanda firm 

wera I I,M - against the gale. 

His lancers through SaltUlo should pursue us thick Lo!— their batterj is silenced now: our iron hail still 

andfast: showers: 

On came his solid regiments, line marching after They falter, halt retreat!— Hurrah! the glorious dav 

Hm ' : ' is Si 



Lo! their great standards in the buu like sheets of 

silver shine: 
Witt thousands upon thousands, yea. with more than 
four i" one, 

A forest of bright bayonets gleam fiercely in the sun! 

Upon them with your squadrons, May!— Out leaps the 

naming steel ! 
Before his serried columns how the frightened lancers 

feel : 

They flee amain.— Now to the left, to stay their tri- 
umph there. 
Or else the day is .surely lost in horror and despair: 



Now charge again, Santa Anna! or the day is surely 

lost; 
For back, like broken waves, along our left your hordes 

are tossed. 
Still louder roar two batteries — his strong reserve 

moves on: — 
More work is there before you. men. ere the good fight 

is won : 
Now for yourwives and children stand! steady, my 

braves, once more ! 
Now for your lives, your honor, fight! as you never 

fought before. 



512 



THE ROTAL GALLERY. 



Ho! Hardiu breasts it bravely! — McKee and Bissell Still sullenly the cannon roared — but died away at last: 

And o'er the dead and dying came the evening shad- 
ows fast, 

And then above the mountains rose the cold moon's 
silver shield, 

And patiently and pityingly looked down upon the 
field;— 

And careless of his wounded, and neglectful of his 
dead, 

Despairingly and sullen, in the night, Santa Anna 



there 

Stand firm before the storm of balls that fills the aston- 
ished air. 

The lancers are upon them, too ! — the foe swarms ten 
to one — 

Hardin is slain — McKee and Clay the last time see the 
sun; 

And many another gallant heart, in that last desperate 
fray, 

Grew cold, its last thoughts turning to its loved ones 
far away. 



lied. 
-4- 



Albekt Pike. 




'And birds most musical at close of day." 

EVEN-TIDE. 



stream is calmest when it nears the tide, 
And flowers are sweetest at the even -tide, 
And birds most musical at close of day, 
And saints divinest when they pass away. 



Morning is lovely, but a holier charm 
Lies folded close in evening's robe of balm, 
And weary man must ever love her best, 
For morning calls to toil, but night brings rest. 



MISi ii.i. \M :<>(-.. 



513 



She comes from heaven, and on her wings doth bear 
A holy fragrance, like the breath of prayer; 
Footsteps of angels follow in her trace, 
To shut the weary eyes oi day in peace. 



Until the evening we must weep and toll, 
Plow life's stern furrow -. dig the weedy soil. 
Tread with sad feet our rough and thorny way, 
And bear the heal and burden oi the daj . 




'Hipp 



"There is a calm, a beauty, and a power, 
That morning knows not, in the-eveningrbour.' 



All things are hushed before her, as she throws 
O'er earth and skj her mantle of repose; 

There i- a calm, a beauty, ami a power, 

That moruiug know- m>i. in the evening hour. 



oh! when QUr sun is setting, may we glide 
Like summer evening, ■ 1> >\\ n the golden tide; 
Ami leave behind us, as we pass away, 
Sweet, starry twilight round our sleeping clay! 

Mbs. J. M. "VVenton. 



SHE poem- which have lingered in the ear of generations have been clear-cut crystals, 
flashing with varied brightness — ideas set in gold of cunning workmanship. 



514 



HE EOYAL GALLERY. 



^r 



BLINDNESS. 



" ilEN I consider how my light is spent 
~J Ere half my days in this dark world and wide; 
*m1|^ And that one talent which is death to hide, 
T Lodged with me useless, though my soul more 
bent 
To serve therewith my Maker, and present 
My true account, lest He returning chide ; 
"Doth God exact day labor, light denied?" 



I fondly ask; but Patience, to prevent 
That murmur, soon replies, "God doth not need 
Either man's work or his own gifts; who best 
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best : his state 
Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed, 
And post o'er land and ocean without rest; 
They also serve who only stand and wait." 

John Milton. 



r-C^-G^\_! .^7^5^»T 




VERTTJE. 

SWEET Day, so cool, so calm, so bright, 
2 The bridal of the earth aud skie; 
The dew shall weep thy fall to-night; 
For thou must die. 

Sweet Eose, whose hue, angrie and brave, 

Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye ; 
Thy root is ever in its grave, 
And thou must die. 

Sweet Spring, full of sweet days and roses, 

A box where sweets compacted lie ; 
My musick shows ye have your closes, 
And all must die. 

Only a sweet and vertuous soul, 

Like seasoned timber, never gives; 
But, though the whole world turn to coal, 
Then chiefly lives. 

George Herbert. 



THE PLAIDIE. 

«KPON" ane stormy Sunday, 
f®|Pf Coming adoon the lane, 
^W* Were a score of bonnie lassies 
.H, And the sweetest, I maintain, 

Was Caddie, 
That I took unneath my plaidie, 
To shield her from the rain. 

She said the daisies blushed 
For the kiss that I had ta'en; 

I wadna hae thought the lassie 
Wad sae of a kiss complain ; 
"Now, laddie! 

I winna stay under your plaidie, 
If I gang hame in the rain!" 

But, on an after Sunday, 

When cloud there was hot ane, 
This self-same winsome lassie 
(We chanced to meet in the lane) 
Said "Laddie, 
Why dinna ye wear your plaidie? 
Wha kens but it may rain?" 

Charles Sibley. 

THE DAISY. 

g. 

||F all the floures in the mede, 

P Than love I most these floures white and rede, 

Soch that men callen daisies in our town; 

To hem I have so great affection, 
As I said erst, whan comen is the May, 
That in my bedde there daweth me no day 
That I nam up and walking in the mede ; 
To seene this flour ayenst the sunne sprede. 
Whan it up riseth early by the morow, 
That blissful sight softeneth all my sorow. 
So glad am I whan that I have the presence 
Of it, to done it all reverence ; 
And ever I love it, and ever ylike newe, 
And ever shall, till that mine herte die; 
All swere I not, of this I will not lie. 

Geoffrey Chaucer. 



MISCELLANEOCl 



515 



PLACES OF \A'< IRSHIP. 



fflEsS star that shinos dependent upon star 
Kr^s Is to tin; >ky wliili- hi' lixik up in \<<\<-; 
'■ ' '- A- to iIm- deep fair ships, which though they 
move, 
Seem fixed, toeyea that watch them from afar: 
Ai to the sand v deserts fountains are 



Of roving tired, or desultory war,— 

Such to this British [ale her l toristian Fanes, 

Each linked to each for kindred services; 

Her Bplres, her steeple-towers with glittering 

vanes, 
Far kenned, her chapels lurking among trees, 




Witli palm-groves shaded at wide Intervals, 
Whose fruit around the sunburnt native falls, 



Where a few villagers, on bended knees 
Find solace \\ bich a busj w orld disdains. 

U 1 1. t.i \M WOBDSWOBXH. 



THE BEACON-LIGHT. 



BARENESS was deepening o*er the seas, 

And still th.. imik drove on; 
No sail to answer to the breeze,— 

Her masts and cordage gone: 
Gloomy and drear her course of fear,— 

Each looked bu( for a grave, — 
When, full in sight, the beacon-light 

< tame streaming o*er the wave. 
And gayly of the tale they told, 

When th > were safe on <hore; 



How bi mi-- bad sunk, and hopes grown cold, 

\uii.l the billows 1 mar: 
When nol a -tar bad shone from far. 

i;> its pale beam to save, 
Then, full in sight, the beacon-lighl 

Came streaming o'er the wave. 

Then wildly rose the gladdening shout 

Of all thai hardy crew; 
Boldlj they pur the helm about. 

And through the surf they Hew. 



THE KOYAL GALLEKY. 



Storm was forgot, toil heeded not, 
And loud the cheer they gave, 

As, full in sight, the beacon-light 
Came streaming o'er the wave. 



When cheering hopes no more illume, 

And comforts all depart; 
Then from afar shines Bethlehem's sts 

With cheering light to save ; 




'When, full in sight, the beacon-light 
Came streaming o'er the wave." 



Thus, in the night of Nature's gloom, 
When sorrow bows the heart, 



And, full in sight, its beacon-light 
Comes streaming o'er the grave. 

Julia Pardoe. 



-s^-SS 



GOD'S-ACRE. 



ill LIKE that ancient Saxon phrase which 

Jt calls 

"ja The burial-ground God's- Acre! Itisjust; 
T It consecrates each grave within its walls, 
I And breathes a benison o'er the sleeping 
dust. 

God's- Acre ! Yes, that blessed name imparts 
Comfort to those who in the grave have 
sown 
The seed that they had garnered in their 
hearts, 
Their bread of life, alas! no more their 
own. 

Into its furrows shall we all be cast, 

In the sure faith that we shall rise again 
At the great harvest, when the archangel's 
blast 
Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and 
grain. 

Then shall the good stand in immortal bloom, 
In the fair gardens of that second birth ; 

And each bright blossom mingle its perfume 
With that of flowers which never bloomed on 
earth. 



With thy rude ploughshare, Death, turn up the sod, 
And spread the furrow for the seed we sow; 




This is the field and Acre of our God, 
This is the place where human harvests grow! 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 



M1SCELL \M :01 S. 



517 



DANIEL (.KAY 



spF I shall ever win the home in heaven 
& For whosf -wi'i-i n-t 1 huiiibly 1 »«•!>« - and pray, 
In the great company of the forgiven 
1 atmll be Bure to And old Daniel Graj ■ 

I knew him well; in truth, few knew him better; 

For my young eyes of! read for him the Word, 
Aii.l Baw how meekly from the crystal letter 

He drank the life of bis beloved Lord. 

Old Daniel (.ray was nol a man who lifted 

On ready worda his freight of gratitude, 
Nor was he called upon among the gifted, 
In Hi" prayer-meetinge of hia neighborhood. 

He had a few old-fashioned words and phi 
Linked in with sacred texts and Sundaj rhym 

And I suppose thai in his praj era and gnu es, 
1 \,- beard them all at least a thousand times, 

I gee him now— his form, his face, his motions, 
Hia homespun habit, and l » i — Bilver baby- 

And hear the language of hia trite devoti 
Bisbig behind the Btralght-baoked kitchen chair. 

1 can remember how the sentence sounded— 
"Help us, Lord, to pray and not to faint! 11 

Ami how the "conquering and to conquer" rounded 
The loftier aspirations of the -aim. 

He had aome notions that did nol Improve him: 
He never kissed hia children— so they Bay; 

And finest scenes and fairest flowers would move him 
Less than a horseshoe linked up in the way. 

He had a hearty hatred of oppression, 
And righteous words for sin of every kind: 



Alas, that the transgressor and transgression 
Were linked so closelj in his honest mind. 

He could see naught but vanity in beauty, 
And naught inn weakness in a fond caress, 

And pitied nun whose views of Christian duty 
Allowed indulgence in such foolishness. 

Yet there wen- love and tenderness within himj 
And I am toid that when his < barlic died, 

Nor nature's need nor gentle words could win him 
From hia fond \ iglla at the sleeper's side. 

And when ih. \ came to burj little < lharlie, 
Thej found fresh dew-drops sprinkled in hi- hair, 

And "ii his breast a rose-bud gathered early, 
And guessed, but did uol know, who placed it there. 

-: and faithful, constaul in his calling* 

Strictly attendant on the mean- ..1 grace, 

Instant In prayer, and fearful most oi tailing. 
Old Daniel Gray was always In his place. 

A practical old man. and yet a dreamer; 

ii. thought that in some strange, unlooked-for way 
His might) friend in Heaven, the great Redeemer, 

Would honor him with wealth some golden day. 

Thla dream he carried In a hopeful spirit, 
Until in death hi- patient eye grew dim, 

And hi- Re leemer called him t" inherit 
The heaven of wealth long garnered up for him. 

go, if i ever win the home In heaven 
For whose Bweet rest I humbly ho*pe and pray, 

In the great company of the forgiven 
I -hall be sure to And old Daniel Gray. 

Jo-iaii Giluekt Holland. 



"I HOLD STILL." 



fV\lv- furnace-heat within me quivers, 
|P God"- breath upon the flame doth hlow 
w^ And all my heart within me shivers 
J4. And trembles at the fiery glo« ; 
And yet I whisper — "As God will!" 
And in the hottest fire, hold still. 

He come- and lays my heart, all heated. 

On the hard anvil, minded so 
Into His own fair shape to heat it. 

With His own hammer, blow on blow; 
And yet I whisper — "As God will!" 
And at His heaviest hlow-. hold still. 

II ■ takes my softened heart, and beat- it — 

■ irks fiy off at even' blow: 
U • rnrns it o'er and o'er, and heat- it. 
And lets it i 1. and makes it glow; 



And vet I whisper— "Aa God will!" 
And in the mighty hand, hold still. 

Why should 1 murmur? for tie- sorrow 
Thus onlj longer lived would be; 

It- end may come, and will, to-morrow. 
When God baa done n u work in me. 

So I Bay, trusting—" As God will!" 

And trusting to the end, bold still. 

He kindle- for my profit purely 
Affliction's glowing, fiery brand, 

And all His heaviest blows are surely 
Inflicted by a Master's hand: 

So I say, praying, "As God will:" 

And hope in Him and suffer still. 

From the 



518 



THE EOYAL GALLERY. 



THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM. 



IpT was a summer evening ; 
HI Old Kaspar's work was done, 
IflAnd he before his cottage door 
1 Was sitting in the sun ; 
And by him sported on the green 
His little grandchild Wilhelmine. 

She saw her brother Peterkin 
Roll something large and round, 

Which he beside the rivulet, 
In playing there, had found; 

He came to ask what he had found, 

That was so large and smooth and round. 

Old Kaspar took it from the boy, 

Who stood expectant by ; 
And then the old man shook his head, 

And with a natural sigh, 
" 'Tis some poor fellow's skull," said he, 

"Who fell in the great victory. 

" I find them in the garden, 
For there'? itany ber° about-, 

And often, when I go to plough, 
The ploughshare turns them out; 

For many thousand men," said he, 
" Were slain in that great victory." 

" Now tell us what 't was all about," 

Young Peterkin he cries ; 
And little Wilhelmine looks up 

With wonder- waiting eyes; 
" Now tell *is all about the war, 
And what they fought each other for." 

"It was the English," Kaspar cried, 
Who put the Frencn to rout; 

But what they fought each other for 
I could not well make out ; 

But everybody said," quoth he, 

" That 't was a famous victory. 

" My father lived at Blenheim then, 

Yon little stream hard by; 
They burnt his dwelling to the groun 

And he was forced to fly ; 
So with his wife and child he fled, 

Nor had he where to rest his head. 

" With fire and sword the country round 

Was wasted far and wide, 
And many a childing mother theu, 

And new-born baby died ; 
But things like that, you know, must be 
At every famous victory. 

"They say it was a shocking sight 

After the field was won; 
For many thousand bodies here 

Lay rotting in the sun; 



But things like that, you know, must be 
After a famous victory. 

"Great praise the Duke of Marlboro' won, 
And our good Prince Eugene." 

" Why, 't was a very wicked thing! " 
Said little Wilhelmine. 

" Nay —nay— my little girl," quoth he, 

" It was a famous victory. 

" And everybody praised the Duke, 
Who this great fight did win." 

"But what good came of it at last?" 
Quoth little Peterkin. 

" Why, that I cannot tell," said he; 

But 't was a famous victory." 

Robert Southey. 



JENNY KISSED ME. 

pENNY kissed me when we met, 
I Jumping from the chair she sat in. 
Time, you thief! who love to get 
Sweets into your list, put that in. 




'Jenny kissed mc when , 
J umping from the chuir 



Say I'm weary, say I'm sad ; 

Say that health and wealth have missed me; 
Say I'm growing old, but add — 
Jenny kissed me ! 

Leigh Httnt. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 



519 




A BUNTING WE WILL GO. 

fillK dusky nighl rides down the -ky. 
Ami ushers in the mom : 
The hounds :iil join In glorious cry, 
The huntsman w inds his horn. 

Ami a hunting we n ill goi 

The wife around her husband throws 

Ber anna to make him Btay : 
"My dear, it rains, it hails, it blows; 

You cannot hunt to-day." 

Yet a hunting we will go. 
Away they fly to 'scape the nun. 

Their steeds they bou idly -\\ itch; 
Some are thrown in, and some thrown out, 

And some thrown in the ditch. 

Yet :i hunting we \\ ill u r "- 

Sly Reynard now like lightning flies, 

And sweeps across the rale; 
And w hen the hounds too near he spies, 

He drops his bushy tail. 

Then a hunting we will go 

Fond Echo seems to like the sport, 

And join the jovial cry; 
Th<- woods, the hills, the sound retort, 

And music till- the sky. 

When a hunting we do go 

At last bis strength to faintness worn. 

Poor Reynard ceases flight : 
Then hungry, homeward we return. 

To feast awaj the night. 

And a drinking we do go. 



Ye jovial hunter-, in the morn 

Prepare them tor the chase; 
Rise at the Bounding of i ti** born 

And health with sport embrace. 

When a hunting we do go. 

iii \ki Fielding. 



H 



HOW'S MY BOY? 

. Bailor of the sea! . 

How '- my boy— mj boy? " 

• What's your boy's name, good wilo, 

Vml in what ship sailed her" 



•• My boy John — 

He that went t" sea — 

What care 1 for the ship, Bailor? 

Mj boy's my boy t" me. 

•■ Y..H come hark from sea, 

And no) know mj John? 

I might as well have asked some laudiuiuu, 

Yonder down in the tow n. 

There's not an ass in all the parish 

But he know - nij John. 

■• How - my boy — my boj ? 
And unless j ou let me kuow, 
I'll swear j ou are if sailor, 
Blue jacket or no, 




" IIo, sailor of the sea ! 
How's my boy — my boy? 

Brass buttons or no, sailor, 
Anehor and crown or no! 
Sure bis -hip was the • Jolly Brito: 
•• Speak low, woman, .-peak low! 



52C 



THE EOYAL GALLERY. 



" And why should I speak low. sailor. 
Ahout my own hoy John? 
If I was loud as I am proud 
I'd sing him over the town ! 
Why should I speak low, sailor? " 
" That good ship went down." 

"How's my hoy — my hoy? 
What care I for the ship, sailor? 
I was never aboard her. 
Be she afloat or be she aground, 
Sinking or swimming, I'll be bound 



Her owners can afford her ! 

I say, how's my John?" 

" Every man on board went down, 

Every man aboard her." 

"How's my boy — my boy? 
What care I for the men, sailor? 
I'm not their mother — 
How's my boy — my boy? 
Tell me of him and no other! 
How's my boy — my boy? " 

Sydney Dobell. 







THE HILLS WERE MADE FOR FREEDOM. 



kHEN freedom from her home was driven, 
'Mid vine-clad vales of Switzerland, 
She sought the glorious Alps of heaven, 
And there, 'mid cliffs by lightnings riven, 
• Gathered her hero-band. 

And still outrings her freedom-song, 
Amid the glaciers sparkling there, 



At Sabbath bell, as peasants throng 
Their mountain fastnesses along, 
Happy, and free as air. 

The hills were made for freedom ; they 

Break at a breath the tyrant's rod; 
Chains clank in valleys; there the prey 
Writhes 'neath Oppression's heel alway: 
Hills bow to none but God ! 

William Goldsmith Brown. 



WSl THE anguish of that thought that we can never atone to our dead for tjie stinted 
^BP affection we gave them, for the light answers we returned to their plaints or their 
"^* pleadings, for the little reverence we showed to that sacred human soul that lived 
so close to us, and was the divinest thing God has given us to know. 



BDSCELLANE01 - 



521 



A CHRISTMAS HYMN. 



jjjKT was the calm and silent night: 
Sj| Seven hundred years and fifty-three 
£m? Had Borne been growing tip to might, 
V And dow was queen oi land and sea. 
N<> sound was heard of clashing war.-. 

Peace brooded o'er the hushed domain; 
Apollo, Pallas, Jove, and Mar-. 
Held undisturbed their ancient reign 
In the solemn midnight, 
Centuries ago. 

Twas in the calm and silent night, 

The senator.'! haughty Borne, 
Impatient, urged hi- chariot's iliu r ht. 

From lordly revel rolling home; 
Triumphal arches, gleaming, -well 

His breast with thoughts of bourn lie— -way. 

What reeked the Unman what befell 
A paltry province far away. 

In the -oleum midnight, 
Centuries ago? 

Within that province far away 

Went plodding home a weary boor: 
A streak of Ugh1 before him lay. 

Fallen through a half-shut stable door 
Across his path, lie passed, for naughl 

Told what was going on w ithin; 



How Keen the -tar-, hi- only thought — 
The air. how calm, how cold, ami thin. 
In the solemn midnight, 
Centuries ago ! 

strange Indifferencel low ami high 

1m-.. w -.-.1 over e. .nun. .n joy- and eare.-; 
The earth was Still, but Knew not why. 

The world was listening unawares. 
How calm a moment may precede 

On.- that -hall thrill the world forever! 
To that -till moment none would heed 

Man- doom w a- linked no more to sever, 

In the solemn midnight. 
( lenturies ago. 

It i- the calm and silent night : 
A thousand bells ring out, and throw 

Their joyous peals abroad, and Bralte 
The darkness — charmed and holy now ! 

The night that erst no name ha. I worn — 

To it ;i happj name i- given; 

For in that -lahle lay. new -horn. 

The peaceful Prince of earth and heaven, 
In the solemn midnight, 
Centuries ago. 

Axfbed Domett. 



L< M >K AL< »FT. 



fj the tempest of life when the wave ami the gale 
Are around and above, if thy footing Bhould fail— 
If thine eye should grow dim, and thy eantioti 
depart — 
Look aloft and he linn, and he fearless of heart. 

If the friend, who embraced in prosperity's glow, 

With a smile for each joy and a tear for each woe, 
Should betray thee when sorrows, like clouds, are 
arrayed, 

Look aloft to th.- friendship which never -hall fade. 

Should the visions, which hope spreads in light to 

thine eye, 
Like the tints of th.- rainbow, but brighten to fly, 



Then turn. and. through tear- of repentant regret, 
I.o,,k aloft to the sun thai is never to set. 

Should those who are dearest, the son of thy 

heart, 
Th.- wife of thy bosom, In sorrow depart. 

I.o,.k aloft fr the darkness and dn-t ..f the tomb, 

To that -.ii wh.-i-e affection Is ever in bloom. 

And Oh! when death -. in terror to Cast 

His fear- on the future, hi- pall on the past, 

I„ thai moment oi darkness, with hope in thy 

heart. 
And a -mile in thine eve. look aloft, and depart. 
Jonathan Law i;i \. i . .lit. 



FAITH. 



PSTTEK trusl all. and he deceived. 

And weep that 1 in- 1 and that deceiving. 
""Than doubt one heart, that, if believed, 

Had blessed oue's life with true believing. 



O, in this mocking world, too fast 
The doubting tiend overtakes our youth! 

Better he cheated to the last, 
Thau lose the blessed hope of truth. 

Frances Anne Kemble. 



522 



THE ROYAL GALLERY. 



COUNSEL TO A FRIEND. 



^^IVE thy thoughts no tongue, 
^P o Nor any unproportioned thought his act ; 
. 'ff" Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar; 

J4 The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, 
Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel ; 
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment 
Of each new-hatch'd, unfledged comrade. Beware 
Of entrance to a quarrel; but, being in, 
Bear 't that the opposer may beware of thee. 
Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice; 
Take each man's censure but reserve thy judgment. 



Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, 

But not expressed in fancy; rich, not gaudy, 

For the apparel oft proclaims the man. 

Neither a borrower nor a lender be, 
For loan oft loses both itself and friend, 
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. 
This above all — to thine own self be true; 
And it must follow, as the night the day, 
Thou canst not then be false to any man. 

William Shakespeare. 




BOOKS. 



|p CANNOT think the glorious world of mind. 
HH Embalmed in books, which I can only see 

T In patches, though I read my moments blind 

I Is to be lost to me. 

I have a thought that, as we live elsewhere, 
So will those dear creations of the brain ; 



That what I lose unread, I'll find, and there 
Take up my joy again. 

O then the bliss of blisses, to be freed 

From all the wants by which the world is driven; 
With liberty and endless time to read 
The libraries of Heaven ! 

Robert Leighton. 



-°©<S3£€Ml§! 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



\|. IMS, JOHN QUTNi ■> . 
Co a Berea\ ed Moi hei . 
ADDISON, JOSEPH. 
Oato a Soliloquy on Immortality 
(from Cato, .1 Tragedy) . '. 508 

Westminster Abbey 
[from The Spectator) . . .' xi* 
Spaclons I n tnament on lli_di iti 

ALDRICH, .1 \Ml->. 

Death-Bed, A 

ALDRICH, THOMAS BAILEY. 
Afterthelialn .... 

,..; 

Rain .... . Q4 
w boKhow \..i i 

Roses ii- 

Al.i: \ win i:. I i.i II. i i: \\< E8. 

Burlalol 
Al FORD, HENRY. 

■ 'ii. at Oakley, The . . ip.i 

Last Words ii2 

Little Mourner, The I-.'.; 

Bate to the Land iss 

All ~. .s . RICH \UD. 
Oberi y-Rlpe From An Jfour's /.'«- 

ereutimi in Music/;,-) .... |u 

IS 

Al LEX, 1.1.1/ \r.lTll AKER8, 

I i < > i: I mi; I'i i:. \ ■. 

Down In the Harbor the Ships lie 

Moored 

Old Storj . The 60 

Rook Me to Sleep 4i 

Al.l INi.ll \M. \\ 1 l.l.I AM . 

Mowers«The p.s 

Song 

AMI - M LEI I I l.MMKi:. 

'' ' 161 

,w i" RSOH m i.\ whii:. 

Bulrnles, Cuddle 1> i .... 31 

ANNE.l 01 NTESS "I u in, m p. 
-1 \. 

Atheist and the Acorn, The . . 5io 
ANONi MOI S. 

All Before 41-4 

Angler The J ;' 

Apple Blossoms 33y 

Balo* . My Babe, i.v Sol and 

Be Baft 8 ::::::::• ^ 

Blind Bov, The joj 

Changes In Nature [09 

Children in the Wood .... 289 

City and Country 195 

Oomln' Through the Bye . . . 4'; 

Coniitrr.slsrn.The -Mo 

Country Lite pr, 

Dying lloy, The 399 

Farm lite 210 

French National Anthem . . .' 293 

German's Fatherland [from, the 

German) 224 

Grave of Bonaparte .... 286 

Hearts That Hunger 363 

-1 Mold -till- 517 

1 Shall 1).- satislled 45-2 

Linger Not Long 45 

Little Jim ... 387 

Little Shoes and Stoekiujjs 386 

Modern Belle, The . . . . . 492 

Mother's Heart 398 

Mothers, .spare Yourselves . . 32 

Mount of the Holy Cross . . 98 
Never Give Cp . , . - . . .434 
No Time Like the Old Time . . 39 



OldTlmes 41n 

'•n \ biting a Scene ol < bild 
■ i Little 1 >•• 1 . . . 

- .' ISO 

Providence p, ; 

Prussian National inthem from 
tie- Gei man . . . 

- in Life 44-j 

Bweel Ha.,. 1 la 

lit 433 

I I 

Plough, The . . 

\\ 111111. da . n 

ARNOLD, Gl ORG! , 
Lloue the Hi 

■ ■ : 1 , rhf . iQg 

1 

mber Jes 

&RN01 D, M \T> III \\ . 

Sell Depend! nee 

\i PON, BIB BOB] B 1 

[Do < - 1 1 Sweet . . 61 

i: Mi ill . JOANS \. 
Gow an 1 ilittei - on thi S 

Heat! 'k, 1 he 

Mornln Song n„ 

B m;i: m i.i>. ann \ 11 irriA. 
Death .... raj 

.1 



BARBOUR, John 

Ml . 

B \i.\ m:ii. LAD! \NNK. 

Allld I: ,,,., 

BARNES, W II 1.1 Wl. 

Rural Nature 

1: m:ni [ELD, BOB] i:r. 

1 ■■ the ... 
BAT! 3. 1 HARLOTTE PTSKE. 

.S.ltl-IM-,1 . gg] 

BE \ 1 1 11 . 1 \Ml 3. 
Oontentmeni with Natare [from 

The Minstrel) 21S 

Sum iMiniii, \ from Th» Min- 

110 

BE >i S, I ROM US 1 "\ 1.1 1 . 

How Mau\ Times i.j 

1:1 1 < ill 1: ill ni;y WARD. 

tndustrj and Genius m 

BEERS, 1 Tin 1. it nn. 

Picket Guard, The .... 241 
IM n.i \min, PARK. 

< lid Sexton, The . . . 390 

'■" - on ; ; 44 

BLAKE, WILLIAM. 

Tiger, The , :J3 

1:1.0. >M 1 1 1.1 i). ROB] 1:1 . 

*' ; »' r*a Boj . The (from The 

fanner's /:■></) .... 204 

Lambs at Play (from The Farmer>'i 

Boy) 125 

Moonlight (from The Farmer'e 

. Boy) soo 

Spring Day, A from The Farmer's 

Boy) us 

BOKER, GEORGE HENRY 
Dirge for a Soldier 31s 

CO a Mountain Oak 154 

BONAB HORATTTJS. 

'•'■> ItheHUls 466 

HOW to lave , . . . 139 

BONNET; C. C. 

Great Lawyer, A 436 



BODRDILLON, I BAN! I- W GK ~ 

.... 003 

BOM 1 i -. u 11 1.1 am US] 1 

Bonnel on tin Bivei Rhim . . 169 
BOW RING, SIR .h.iiN 

J03 - ol Home (J 

BRAIN VRD, JOHN GARDN] 1: 

>ng .... 
BRAN! II. M mm BOU 1 3 

"01 
l:l:l NN \N, JOS1 PH. 

1 . . 64 

v Nil H0LA8. 

63 

B^OWN, \\ II. 1 1 wi J)SMITh! 

11 1 - 

(from 1 ermon 1, . -.. n 

Hundred rearsto Come 

ig 

1:1:1. H N| 11; Wi K I 

BROW np. Hi, , 1 \ M . 

107 

BBOWNTNG, ELIZABETB BAR. 

,""''■ '' ' 40 

H ' ' I' •••.... •<u 

Three Ki ... ' i2 

My Heart and I ...'.'.' «a 

BROW nim,, robi pp. 

N ' • rhe 159 

i.i.i INT, "11 I 1AM tin en, 

i \7 , S " .",'" Tl,: " Xl ""'" • <« 

Evenli g wind .... " l S 

Flood ol rears ... . .', 

1 oresl iimihi . . . " "-i 

Future Life ... As 

June ; " ^ 

' ' * VS 

Falreal ol the Rural Maids '. 44 

our 1 ountry's Call .... 03T 

Plantjngthe Apple Tree . . .' Jh 

Itoberl 01 Lincoln . . . .> a 

Thanatopais . . ' 5*>? 

*©r»owl • . . ' " iot 

waiting by the Gate . . .' ' 375 

BURLEIGH, W. IL 

Song of the Mowers . . i<m 

Woods . . ' in' 

fOU and I * 83 

BURNS, ROBERT. 

Absence » 

Ae Fond Kiss Before We Part ' 41 

Afton Water .... ' -I 

Auld l.an- >yne ...::; ■,'; 

Bannockburn ... ■ , 

BonnieMary ' ' ' 48 

Coming Through the Rye '.'.'. 43 

(Otter's salurdav Ni-lit 17 

Pay Returns, My' II ,]),„.„', ' ;g 

Highland Mary . . 410 

.lolm \nd.T-on, Mv Jo ..''.' 3 | 

Man was Made to Mourn . \ . 3 90 

Mary Morison 39 

M> I'.- ,, . -s in the Ili-hlanda '. 180 

To 11 Mountain Daisv . n-, 

To Mary in Heaven ".....' 4ok 
(523) 



INDEX OF AUTHOKS. 



BUSHNELL, LOUISA. 
Noon in Midsummer 263 

BUTLER, SAMUEL. 
Barn Owl, The (from Hudibras) . 92 

BYROM, JOHN. 
Pastoral, A 70 

BYRON, GEORGE GORDON NOEL, 
LORD. 
Calm and Storm on Lake Leman 

(from Childe Harold) ... 161 
Destruction of Sennacherib . . 270 
Eternal Spirit of the Chainless 

Mind (from Prisoner of Ctiitl n) 230 
Fair Greece! Sad kelic of De- 
parted Worth (from Childe 

Harold) 308 

First Love (from Don Juan) . . 39 
Imaginative Sympathy with Na- 
ture (from Childe Harold) . 164 
Night (from Childe Harold) . . 83 
Poet's Solitude (from Childe 

Harold) 182 

Rhine, The (from Childe Harold) 153 
Sea, The (from Chi'de Harold) . 84 
She Walks in Beauty .... 68 
Solitude of the Sea (from Childe 

Harold) 151 

Stars (from Childe Harold) . . 1«6 

To Thomas Moore 314 

Unreturning Brave, The (from 

Childe Harold) 236 

Waterloo (from Childe Harold) . 236 
When We Two Parted .... 386 

CAMPBELL, TIIOMAS. 
Downfall of Poland (from Pleas- 
ures of Hope) 230 

Exile of Eriu 393 

H.dlowed Ground 226 

Hohenlinden ....... 238 

Hope (from Pleasures of Hope) . 347 
Lord Ullin's Daughter .... 298 

Soldier's Dream, The \ . . . 609 
Ye Mariners of England ... 235 

CAREY, HENRY. 
English A ational Anthem ... 223 

CARLYLE, THOMAS. 

Book of Job, The 368 

To-day 377 

CARY, ALICE. 

Dying Hymn 455 

Pictures of Memory 334 

Robbing the Nest (from^4w Order 
for a Picture) 287 

CARY, PHCEBE. 

Homestead, The 186 

Nearer Home 461 

CHARLES, ELIZABETH R. 
Cross, The 425 

CHATTERTON, THOMAS. 
My Love is Dead 409 

CHAUCER. GEOFFREY. 
Daisy, The (from Legend Good 

Woman) 514 

CIBBER, COLLEY. 
Blind Boy, The 380 

CLARE, JOHN. 
Summer Woods ... . . 108 
Thrush's Nest, The Ill 

CLARK, J. G. 
Mountains of Life, The .... 452 

CLARKE, . 

Village Boy, The 212 

CLOUGH, ARTHUR HUGH. 
Green Fields of England , . . 230 
Stream, The 378 

COBB. HENRY N. 
Father, Take my Hand .... 461 

COLERIDGE, HARTLEY. 
November 172 

COLERIDGE. SAMUEL TAYLOR. 
Answer to a Child's Question . 373 
Estrangement (from Chrislabel) 377 
Hymn Before Sunrise in the Vale 

of Chamouni 90 

Knight's Tomb, The 313 

Nightingale, The 79 

To a Young Ass 129 

COLESWORTHY, . 

Little Words in Kindness Spoken 357 



PAGE. 

COLLINS, MORTIMER. 

Two Worlds 457 

CONSTABLE, HENRY. 

Pain of Love . ' 47 

CONWAY, D. 

To the Turtle Dove 101 

COOK, ELIZA. 

Harvest Song 206 

Old Arm Chair 390 

COOKE, JOHN ESTEN. 

May 343 

COOKE, PHILIP PENDLETON. 

Florence Vane 398 

COOKE, ROSE TERRY. 

Two Villages 379 

COOLBRITH, INA D. 

When the Grass Shall Cover Me . 394 
CORBETT, MISS. 

We '11 Go to Sea no More ... 277 
COWPER, WILLIAM. 

Dog and the Water-Lily ... 122 

Love of Liberty (from The Task) 229 

On a Goldfinch 109 

On the Receipt of my Mother's 
Picture 385 

Rustic Bridge.The'fromrfce Task) 262 

Squirrel, The (from The Task) . 110 

Town and Country (from The 

Task) 186 

Winter (from The Task) ... 158 

Winter Morning (from The Task) 134 
CRABBE, GEORGE. 

Sea in Calm and Storm .... 173 
CRAIK, DINAH MARIA MULOCK. 

HerLiki'ness 41 

Philip my King 73 

CRAWFORD, JULIA. 

We Parted in Silence 64 

CROSS, MARIA V EVANS LEWES 
(George Eltot). 

Day is Dying (from Th» Spanish 

Gypsy) 131 

O May I Join the Choir Invisible 491 
CUVNTNGHAM, ALLAN. 

It's Hame and It's Hame . . 232 
DANA, RICHARD HENRY. 

Immortality (from The Husband's 

and Wife's Grave) .... 453 

Little Beach-Bird, The . ... 148 
DANIEL, SAMUEL. 

Early Love 40 

Love is a Sickness 62 

DARWIN, ERASMUS. 

Loves of the Plants 137 

DAVIS, THOMAS. 

Welcome, The ....... 69 

DeVERE, SIR AUBREY. 

Columbus 313 

Sad is Our Youth, for it is Ever 

Going 404 

DICKENS, CHARLES. 

Ivy Green, The Ill 

DIMOND, WILLIAM. 

Mariner's Dream, The .... 490 
DOANE, GEORGE W. 

Gentleman, The 434 

DOBELL, SYDNEY. 

"How's My Boy?" 519 

DOBSON, AUSTIN. 

Angelus Song 399 

Cradle, The 421 

DODDRIDGE, PHILIP. 

Divine Abode, The 464 

DODGE, MARY E. 

Blossom-Time 189 

DODGE, MARY MAPES. 

Two Mysteries 398 

DODSLEY, ROBERT. 

True Woman, A 440 

DOMETT, ALFRED. 

Christmas Hymn 521 

DOUDNEY, SARAH 

Lesson of the Water-Mill ... 336 



PAGE. 

DOUGLASS, MARION. 

Two Pictures 192 

DRAKE, JOSEPH RODMAN. 

American Flag, The 222 

DRAYTON, MICHAEL. 

Ballad of Agincourt, The ... 234 

Parting 61 

DRUMMOND, WILLIAM. 

Praise of a Solitary Life . . . 19T 

To a Nightingale 137 

DUFFERIN, LADY. 

Lament of the Irish Emigrant . 388 
DUFFY, SIR CHARLES GAVAN. 

Patriot's Bride, The 58 

DUGANNE, AUGUSTINE J. H. 

Bethel 241 

DURIVAGE, FRANCIS A. 

Cavalry Charge, The 250 

DYER, JOHN. 

Shepherd, The 86 

DYER, SIR EDWARD. 

My Mind to Me a Kingdom is . . 443 
EASTMAN, CHARLES GAMAGE. 

Dirge 407 

Snow-Storm, The '273 

ELLIOT, EBENEZER. 

Sunday in the Fields 188 

ENGLISH, THOMAS DUNN. 

Ben Bolt 428 

Charge by the Ford 250 

EVERETT, EDWARD. 

Farming 191 

Night 112 

FALCONER, WILLIAM. 

Wrecked Ship, The (from The 

Shipwreck) 278 

FAWCETT, EDGAR. 

Bird of Passage 57 

FIELDING, HENRY. 

A-HuntingWeWillGo .... 519 
FIELDS, JAMES THOMAS. 

In a Strange Land 33 

Tempest, The 271 

FT' CH, FRANCIS MILES. 

Blue and the Gray 430 

FLAGG, WILSON. 

U'Lincoln Family 151 

FLETCHER, GILES. 

Dying Stag, The 112 

FOSTER, STEPHEN COLLINS. 

My Old Kentucky Home ... 32 

Old Folks at Home 31 

FRANKLIN, BENJAMIN. 

Industry (from Poor Richard's 

Almanac) 444 

FULLER, MARGARET. 

On Leaving the West .... 312 
GALLAGHER, WILLIAM D. 

Harvest Hvmn 202 

Laborer, The 432 

Lines 357 

On the Banks of the Tennessee . 2U9 
GARFIELD, JAMES ABRAM. 

Source of Party Wisdom (from 

Speech at Chicago Convention) . 229 
GILDER, RICHARD WATSON. 

Dawn (from The New Day). . . 92 

O Sweet Wild Roses that Bud 

and Blow 504 

GOLDSMITH, OLIVER. 

Outcast, The (from A City Night 

Piece) 429 

GOODALE, DORA READ. 

Ripe Grain 461 

GOODALE, ELAINE. 

Ashes of Roses 361 

GOUGn, JOHN B. 

Pilot, The 278 

Power of Habit 268 

GRAHAME, JAMES. 

Blind In an, The (firomAn Autumn 

Saubaih Walk) ...... 419 

GRAY, DAVID. 

Wintry Weather , ">35 



IM'KX OP AUTHOKS. 



6BAY, THOMAS. 

Elegy Written In a Country 
Churchyard 321 

Ode on a Distant Prospect of 
F.t«n College 359 

Spring 188 

GUI FUN, GERALD. 

U 

GRISWOLD, HATTIK TYNG. 

i llM ,"' K '--' ~ <08 

I Dder the Daisies 

HALE, MR8. S. J. 

" Snows i 7; , 

II W.I .AM, ARTHUB HENRY 

To Uj Mother 509 

II 4LLECK, in/ GREENE. 



Mi 



II ILL, EUGENE .1. 

Boose on the Hill, The . . . . 
H.W.-im;. ui m.i E9 GBAHAM 
Mil BS O'REILLY). 

Janette - Hair 

Bong ol the .soldiers .....' 
II \\N \l old). E. 

Catching Shadows 

Dead inWember . . . . . 
II 1BBI8, JOEL CHANDLER. 

Ne i-o Revival Hymn 

HART) . l;i:l I . 

Greypon Legend 

Grizzly . . • . 

" How ire Sou, Sanitary?" ." .' 

John Burns ol Gettysburg . . . 
II W ERG W.. I l; \\i ES RIDL] \ . 

My Work 

HAY, JOHN. 

River, The 

HAS M.. PAUL HAMILTON. 

By i be Autumn Sea 

Farmer's \\ ,1,-, II,,. . . . ; 
Fori-, i IMi-ture* .... 



Hi 



HEBER, BEGIN tin. 
U i l>ou \\ erl bj M\ Side . . r 

Btream ol Life, The 271 

HEM INS, 1 I.I. hi \ DOROTHE \ 

IJr.-^tlili.u- ol >|.iin- 87 

' osabianca ■•- 1 

Child's Flrsl Gi lef.The . . . i-i 

l ome to the Bun«et Tree 

EvenlngPrayei ut a Girls' School 841 
.., B Household . . 

Hour ol Death 

Landing ol the Pilgrim Pathi 
HERBERT, GEORGE. 

Vartue 514 

HERRICK, ROBERT. 

*'","""> '•"" 183 

•'.'.''V 88 

violets loj 

HEYWOOD, THOMAS. 

Pack Clouds a» ay i.-, 

HOI- KM \\. ill LRU - FENXO. 

Monterey 

HOGG, .i VME8. 

Bkj Lark, The loi 

\\ inn tin- Kyi- Comes Uame . :.: 

HOLDEN, JOSIAH W. 
1 M" Batteras 309 

HOLLAND, JOSIAH i.ILISERT. 

Daniel Gray .-,, 7 

Gradatim , : ;., 

HOLMES, OLIVEB W END] 1 L. 

AnntTabltba 199 

i , ,uege Regatta (from The School- 

, /; ','"' , • ■ 602 

il. The 487 

Ni-u Kn-lainl S.liool, Tin- (from 

The Schnol-JSon) o-n 

Old Home, The (from The School. 

B011) 268 

Ploughman, The I-.> 

\ ol eless, The ' 4U 

HOME, JOHN. 

- N " ,N - 11 504 



■ A 



HOOD, THOMAS. ' ACE " , uv „ FVrv „,v.-,„ „ FA ™- 

i:.h_. •-. . -. or. LAWRENCE, JONATHAN, Jr. 

Dealt Bed, The : " • " • SI Loo* Aloft . 521 

Flowers . . . . • • ■ ■ « LEIGHTON, K"i:KRT 

1 Remember, I Remember .' .' 888 Books r )Vt 

Songof tlii-.-hirt 894 LELAND, CHARLES GODFREY 

HOPE, JAMES BARRON. Calm Is the Night . . . . - 4 ., 

... las LESLIE, (' \l;m i\r 

HOPKTNSON, JOS1 I'll - u Last .... V 

HaUColumbia ...... LOGAN, .mils 

HOWE, JULIA WARD. TotbeCuckoo. ... rn 

Battle Hymn of the Republic . 239 Harrow Stream . . . '.'.'. am 

HOWITT.MARY. LONCTKLLOW, HENRI WADS- 

HOWITT, WILLIAM. laiMii,,-. i i„- (from //;„„■„,,„, . ._,., 

•inn.- Day .... inn ; "", 'P B '" Angels m 

«no^ u ? : : : « l £«;>- ::::::. % 

ROWLAND, m.u *.„„.:,.; • ' M '% ,, ,!:-^c, ,M -. ,,, - i,,, - ,c « .,, 

ralph. •■■■ ;■ '■'.—■ : ; : | 

Old u „ : .11. Flowers .' ' 421 

■ s u..u ... Resignation . . . 

HI M. LEIGH ' £"'■« ":,l„, ..♦.;••• J.if 

AbouBenAdhem . . . . 509 village Blacksmith ....'. id', 

Glove and the Lions . ... 1 LOVELACE, RICHARD 

Jennie Kissed Me .-,,- To Althea, from Prison 1-0 

rNGELOW. JEAN LOT! III. JAM] - 1:1 SSELL 
June 11.. f 

High Laun/al) .... ... 

1 1 ■ i. ,d, il.,,, . ' ' • • ,.., 

Sight 71 LINT. GEORGJ ' 

• • ■ • 2i L^rF T ^ - 

Bummer Drought i.-. : . ; ., l , nie 

JACKSON, 111 I 1 s III M 11 11 MM. in rai 1 RANCIS ' ' ' 

u . ... 858 UrfdeWlth Me . iVt 

JENN1 R, DB hl.\\ \.:i.. , v EDWARD BUXWEb" ' 

■ • ■ • 167 ire in the Quiet Skies •-• 

JILLSON, CLARK. LYTTON ROBRRT nm«m 
Luil&UenT. ? ' '"" ! - 

JON] S, \M \Mi\ I . Hinl at -,,,,-i-t ...''''' -, 

ie1 297 L1 ' '' ■ JOHN. 

JON1 - -11: wii.ii \m. mpaspe ... 70 

M k ' wnin . DENIfi 1 1 OR] XI 1 

JONSON, r.Ls. Bummer Longings ..." 210 

1 '"" i( "" -- from I M M I., 11; INCI8 LAI (.11 TON 

<>nh \\ aitin- . .-, 

N Nature, The .... 1-7 m\ik\i iiimmi- ' ' " " 

KEATS, JOHN. Muall 1;. -»i.."ni„^ ! \ ' ' ' ^ 

I- I] M . 1.- \\ in ,.,| Wiu.ls ' ' ,"-,-. 

N;lt :;:;:r ■ *«*« m mw. ; .nv,,.-vs ( -,. (Kw , i1i: ,.,;„.,; 

M B] 1 . JOHN. m\", ' , " ' • ' 

„„.,„ .... ... MARI II. DANIEL. 

Chlldi-en's Thankfulness . '. '. 603 B ' ! ' " «58 

Ki MBLE, 1 BAN! ES INN] M u:l " u i: - ' HBISTOPH] R 

Faith ' '. --I Passionate Shepherd to His Love 62 

EE1 , 11; \M 1- 51 OTT. - N1 IRSTON, JOHN 

Star Spangled Banner .... -."i 1,:l > Breaking 96 

KTNGSLE1 . OH \ Ml 01 1 I LAN, ISAAC. 

Dee ... . 384 Deathoi Napoleon .... "g5 

Thre 8 Fishers ;., Mel REERY, J. L. 

KINNEY, COATES. There Is no Death .... h- 

BalnontheBool 39 McMASTER, GUY HUMPHREY 

KNOWLES, JAMES SHERIDAN Carmen Bellicosum ... oj§ 

William Till i,„ m . MENTEATH, MRS. A. STUART 

tains I....,, irut,,-.:, JcU) . . 4; > s jam.- M.u iii.--^ < -i.ij.i . '. ' i05 

KNOX, WILLIAM. Mll.l.l 1:. JOAQ1 in. 

Mortality 3G9 Di-eamers (from UptheNUe) . . 37-5 

LACOS1 1 . M \i;ii 1;. Hope 

Somebody's DarUng . . .397 Overland Train, The (from Bythe 

LAIGHTON, VLBEBT. o-» *'"" -*& 

Under the'Leaves. i> ^. 1 ,,(„■„,„ ;; } rte to- 

LA no B PaSf,^ S - TonteB^ntfromB,,-^^: ^ 

Old Familiar Faces 380 • • - 315 

l.\M"'i.\ WALTEB SAVAGE. MILNES, RI( BABD MONCKTON 

Margaret 53 ,i..., :l . 11.,, ,.iu.,n . 

LANIER, SIDNEY. Brookside. The go 

Evening Song ....... 60 MILTON, John. 

LABCOM Mil Blindness 514 

Hannah 11. nding Shoes . . . 4-5 *','"., i' s , V', '86 

LATHBOP, GEORGE PARSONS. " ""i l' Y " ' (fr ° ,U Far '""' ie ,*, 

"y-*«*n» 75 Sup^maeyol-Virtue(xromCo,„u 3 )L 3 r 



INDEX OF AUTHOKS. 



PAGE. 

MONTGOMERY, JAMES. 
Battle of Alexandria .... 23"? 

Daisy, The 1-24 

Grave, The 476 

Nature's Magnificence (from The 

West Indies) 177 

Night 3^0 

Northern Winter, A (from Green- 
land) 281 

Our Own Country 22 L 

Parted Friends . . 466 

Shipwrecked Sailors, The (from 

Greenland) 2S4 

Table Mountain, Cape of Good 

Hope 181 

MOORE, CLEMENT C. 
Visit from St. Nicholas .... 470 

MOORE, THOMAS. 
Alas! How Light a Cause May 
Move (from The Light of the 

Harem) 351 

Curse on the Traitor (from Lalla 

Iiookh) 230 

Good Bye 42 . 

Harp That Once Through Tara's 

Halls 500 

Lake of the Dismal Swamp . . 400 
Love's Young Dream .... 46 
Oft in the .Millv Night .... 360 
This World is all :i Hooting Show 459 

Those Evening Bells 334 

'Tis the Last Rose of Summer . 346 

MORE, HANNAH. 
Two Weavers, The 338 

MORRIS, CHARLES. 
Toper's Apology, The . ... 469 

MCRRIS, GEORGE P. 

My Mother's Bible 412 

Woodman, Spare That Tree . . 353 

MORRIS, WILLIAM. 
March 170 

MOSS, THOMAS. 
Beggar, The 392 

MOULTON, LOUISA CHANDLER. 
Old House, The .202 

MUHLENBERG, WM. AUGUSTUS. 
I Would Not Live Alway ... 463 

MTINBY, ARTHUR J. 
Doris 52 

NAIRNE, LADY CAROLINE. 

Here's to Them That are Gane . 469 

Rest is not Here 451 

NEALEY, MARY E. 

When the Cows Come Home . . 199 
NEWMAN, JOHN HENRY. 

The Pillar of the Cloud ... 462 
NOEL, THOMAS. 

Pauper's Drive, The 505 

NORTHRUP, B. G. 

Make Home-Life Beautiful . . 23 
NORTON, CAROLINE ELIZABETH 
SARAH. 

Bingen on the Rhine 413 

We Have Been Friends Together 365 
O'HARA, THEODORE. 

Bivouac of the Dead .... 415 
O'REILLY, JOHN BOYLE. 

At Best 370 

Forever . . 362 

OSGOOD, FRANCES SARGENT. 

Labor 437 

OTIS, NEWTON S. 

Childhood's Prayer 485 

PAGE, EMILY R. 

Old Canoe, The 274 

PALFREY, SARAH HAMMOND. 

Light House, The ...... 370 

PALMER, J. W. 

Stonewall's Jackson's Way . . 247 
PARDOE, JULIA. 

Beacon Light, The ..... 515 
PARKER, THEODORE. 

The Way, the Truth, and the Life 453 
PAYNE, JOHN HOWARD. 

Home, Sweet Home 31 



PAGE. 

PEALE, REMBRANDT. 

Don't Be Sorrowful, Darling . . 65 
PERCIVAL, JAMES, GATES. 

To Seneca Lake 113 

PERRY, NORA. 

After the Ball 402 

PHELPS, EGBERT. 

Life's Incongruities 348 

Sunbeams 376 

PIATT, DON. 
Bloom W.-is on the Alder and the 
Tassel on the Com .... 66 
PIATT, JOHN JAMES. 

First Tivst 359 

To a Child 347 

PIKE, ALBERT. 

Buena Vista .511 

Every Year 4:6 

POE, EDGAR ALLEN. 

Annabel Lee 406 

Bells, The 474 

Raven, The 480 

POLLOK, ROBERT. 
Byron (from Course of Time) . 314 

POPE, ALEXANDER. 
Dying Christian to His Soul, The 455 
Happy the Man Whoso Wish and 

Care 215 

Universal Prayer 501 

PORTER, NOAH. 
Advice to Young Men .... 437 

POWERS, HORATIO NELSON. 
Abide with Us : for it is Toward 

Evening 450 

PRENTICE, GEORGE D. 

Better World, The 460 

Closing Year, The 302 

Heaven Our Home 456 

Name in the Gand 366 

Our Childhood 400 

Shall We Meet Again , ... 450 
To an Absent Wife 49 

PROCTOR, ADELAIDE ANNE. 
Woman's Question, A . . . . 52 

PROCTOR, BRYAN WALLER 

(Barry Cornwall). 

Life, A • . . . 4"1 

Sea in Calm, The 264 

PROCTOR, EDNA DEAN. 
Take Heart 371 

PUNSHON, WILLIAM MORLEY. 
Trials a Test of Character . . . 43S 

QUARLES, FRANCIS. 
What is Life 342 

RALEIGH, SIR WALTER. 
Nymph's Reply to the Passionate 
Shepherd 62 

RANDALL, JAMES R. 
My Maryland ....... 239 

READ, THOMAS BUCHANAN. 
Brave at Home, The ..... 408 

Closing Scene, The 303 

Sheridan's Ride 246 

REALF, RICHARD. 

Indirection 373 

Vale 319 

REDDEN, LAURA C. (Howard 
Glyndon) . 
Mazzini 314 

REYNOLDS, JOHN HAMILTON. 
Think of Me . .361 

RICH, HIRAM. 
In the Sea 404 

RICHARDS, WILLIAM C. 
Rosalie 397 

ROBERTSON, F. W. 
Rest of the Soul, The .... 463 

ROGERS, SAMUEL. 

Mother's Love, A 61 

Pleasures of Memory .... 344 
Wish, A 1S5 

ROSSETTI, CHRISTINA GEOR- 
GINA. 

Milking Maid, The 54 

Up-Hill 456 



PAGE. 

RUSKIN, JOHN. 

Old Water-Wheel, The . . . . 292 
RYAN, ABRAM T. 
Conquered Banner, The ... 396 
"Follow Me" (from A Thought) 464 
RYAN, RICHARD. 

O, Saw Ye the Lass 64 

SARGENT, EPES. 
Life on the Ocean Wave ... 260 
Sunrise at Sea ....... ISO 

SAXE, JOHN G. 
I'm Growing Old ...... 508 

Kiss Me Softly 55 

SCOTT. SIR WALTER. 

Evening 502 

Harp of the North (from Lady of 

the Lake) 227 

Lochin var's Ride (from Marmion) 301 
Love of Country (from Lay of the 

Last Minstrel) 232 

Melrose Abbey (from Lay of the 

Last Minstrel) 308 

Sunset at Norman Castle (from 

Marmion) 141 

There is Mist on the Mountain, 
and Night on the Vale (from 

Waverly) 482 

Time Rolls His Ceaseless Course 

(from Lady of the Lake) . . 372 
SHAKESPEARE, WILLIAM. 
Absence (from Sonnets) ... 65 
Counsel to a Friend (from Hamlet) 522 
Duke of Gloster on His Own De- 
formity (I'rom Kincj Hichard III) 376 
Hamlol > >.>li!<M|ii\ (from Hamlet) 377 
Hark! Hark! the Lark at Heav- 
en's Gate Sings (from Cymbe- 

line) . 43 

Lark, The 160 

Spring and Winter (from move's 

Labour's Lost/ 128 

Vicissitudes of Life (from Kinq 

Henry VIII.) .376 

SHANLEY, CHARLES DAWSON. 

Civil War 242 

SHELLEY, PERCY BYSSHE. 
Divinity of Poetry, The ... 335 
Eternal, The (from Adonais) . . 466 

I Fear Thy Kisses 57 

Invocation to Nature (from Alas- 
tor) ]81 

Love's Philosophy .... 42 

To a Skylark 116 

With the Dead 382 

SHLLLABER, B. P. (Mrs. Par- 

TINGTON). 

My Childhood's Home .... 30 
SHIRLEY, JAMES. 

Death the Leveler 503 

SIBLEY, CHARLES. 

Plaidie, The 514 

SIDNEY, SIR PHILIP. 

My True Love Hath My Heart . 42 
SIMMS, WILLIAM GILMORE. 

First Day of Spring 130 

Grape-Vine Swing 276 

Shaded Water 171 

SMITH, CHARLOTTE. 

Heath, The 119 

Swallow, The 120 

SMITH, HORACE. 

Hymn to the Flowers .... 142 
SMITH, MAY RILEY. 

If 396 

SMITH, SYDNEY. 

Want of Decision 435 

SMOLLETT, TOBIAS GEORGE. 

Ode to Leven Water . ... 147 
SOMERVILLE, WILLIAM. 

Hare, The ......... 116 

SOULE, JOHN B. L. 

Wooing 59 

SOUTHEY, CAROLINE BOWLES. 

Mariner's Hymn 449 

SOUTHEY, ROBERT. 

Battle of Blenheim 513 

Inchcape Kock S08 

Library, The 352 



INDEX OF AUTHORS. 



PAGE. 

SPENCER, WILLIAM ROBERT. 

lyed 829 

SIM-:\- R, EDMl N*D. 
Eternal Rest (from The Farlt 

. . . . . . . 40J 

Mini-try of Vngels 

Queene) 4 ,; ' 

8POI i OBD, HARRIEl PRESOOTT. 

sn: VG1 E, ( II \l(I.I->. 

M .,, . . i Worshippers, The . . 497 
BTANTON, HENRY T. 

Moueyless Man, The ..... 491 
STEDM w. EDMl ND CLARENCE. 
lis- son- (In. in Alic/Mon- 

mouth) 251 

Discoverer, The -» t7 

II '■ OlveleV I 

al .-•■-. en Pinee ■ • 243 

On the Doorstep 87 

STODDARD.CH \KLI> WARREN. 

Rhyineof Life -in 

BTODD \i:i>. RICH \i;i> HENRY. 

in.-. Tin- 211 

Old Mill, The 

Pearls 

BTORT, WILLIAM WETMORE. 

Violet, The IW 

BTOTH E, II MMfii r BEEI HER. 

"Only n Venr" 402 

Vt orld, The .... 
STREET, \l.l i:i D B. 

Night-Fall: \ Plctur 217 

-l ( k: [VG, SIR .lollN. 
Bridi 

a Wedding) 

Win so Pule and Wan, Fond 

Lover 65 

BWAIN.l ii VRLES 

139 

TW\ Mill I . ROBERT, 
(•lower O' Dumblane .... 19 

Uldges Dance Al i the Burn • 173 

TATLOR, B W \KI> 

Friend's Greetlng,A 

Give Me Back M> Youth Vg iln 

ir..ni Goethe's Fernet) ■ ■ ■ 887 

Bong •>: i In- ( am] 

TATLOR, BENJAMIN F. 

"Atlantic" 

Ruining of Chicago .... 279 
( In Is in i- sioi-kimrs (from The 
Child and the Star) .... "•<'> 

Isleol i 848 

eve in Fori Dearborn . 283 

M v Musk (from The Old Barn) 2fl0 

Old \ lUage Choir 

T.U LOR, TOM. 

Abruiiau Lincoln 3' 4 

TENN YSON, ALFRED. 

. Break, Break . . 
Itui;l.'. Son- (from l he Princess) . 883 
,.i the Light Brigade . . 2:i7 

<-ii .-uin-i :m,-.- 819 

Come i the Garden, Maud 

\faud) ...... 58 

Death -I the Old Year .... SiO 

hire, The (from The D 

88 

rhe 139 

•Ot old sat Freedom on the 

ll.-i-.rlu 229 

O Swallow, Flying South f:om 

The I'riiK-css) 5:! 

Ring Out, \\ ild Bella (from /« 
ATemoriam) . .... 490 

(from The 

Brook: an Idyl) 131 

from In Men oriam) ■ . 173 
in The Prin- 

5!» 

Tear-, Idle Tears (from J he Prin- 

<e*?) 423 

To VU-tor Hugo 814 



PACE. 

THACKER \V. WILI.IA.V MAKE- 
1-1. M L. 

Uo-e Upon Mv Balcony (from 

Vanity Fair) 349 

THAXTER, CELIA. 

son- 343 

THOMAS, LORD"N AUX. 

01 a Contented Mind .... i-- p 

THOMPSON, I D. PORTER. 
Aunt -ii\.i Meets Young Mas'r 
John . . 47". 

iir. '- t'oiinni- .25! 

Sonnets 

THOMPSON, JAME8 MAURI! E 

Heron, The 

THOMPSON, JOHN R. 

Music in t am] 235 

THOMSON, .1 \MI 3. 

i oi mi. id. The from I 

Freed ■ N ■ - - I mile 

161 

ir- inn on i lie Seasons . . 

Rain . . 102 

Rule, Britannia! 

THOREAU, Ml \i:v l»W Ii>. 

In tli. v 

Upon thl I. ... 

i II rON, THEODORE. 



TIMROD IIIVKV. 

Spi mc In Carolina ... 

TROWBRIDGE. JOHN TOW NSEND. 

Farm-Yard Song 

Summer 

! 500 

in KLi: ST. '.LORGE. 
Days ol M, Youth 364 

VAUGHN, HENRY. 

World, The -it: 

\ i \ \i;i i . W. II. 

Old ttdl, The 200 

VERY, JON) S. 

Home and Heaven 451 

Nature 

< >nr Soldiers' Grai es .... H6 

\s lnd-1 lower, 1 .... 

WAKEFIELD, NANCY PRIEST. 

. 151 
Over the River 

\\ W.I.l l; l DM1 M'. 

rom Verses 

!■ .: . . 4G3 

WALLER, JOHN FRANCIS. 

Splnnll .... 72 

WALTON, 1/ \ \K. 

. TllO 14G 

W V.TSON, J \M I - W. 

Beautiful Snow ... 
WATTS, 1- \ v. 

Cradle Hymn 34 

\\ l BS1 IK. JOHN. 

Honorable Employment . 443 

\\ l IK. ll \KKI-"\. 

( hrtstmas in the Woods . . . ioi 

Robin, i 1 128 

WHEELER, El LA. 

Love i- Enough 46 

WHITE. HENRY KTRKE. 

Early Primrose, Th . . . 
WHITE, JOSI I'll BLANI O. 

Night and Death 197 

w III I'VLV. MBS. A. D. T. 

Equinoctial 348 

WIIITTIF.K. ELIZABETH H. 

Dream of Argyle, The . ... 483 



PAGE. 

WHITHER, JOHN GEEENLE M - . 

Ule 248 

Ban foot B i 

l.o- 1 o. i-ii-ion, Tin- 310 

Maud Muller 508 

m . Psalm 

Pumpkin, The 

Skipper Ireson's Ride .... 261 

W1I.HL, LADY ~> i.UAs/., . 

\ ..I . ol the Poor : 

v. II DE, 08( AK. 

Requieseat Ilfl 

ide jo 

WILDE, RICH \KI> HENRY. 

M> Life i- Like the Snmmi i □ 

wn LIAMS.MARD B 

Out ol the Plague-Stricken city 4:0 
WILLI-, NATHANIEL PARKER. 
. 

/ ing Europe) .... 
w II I Ml it. AVIS. 

1 411 

v. 11 LSON, FOR) 1.VT11L. 

. rhe 214 

w [LSON JOHN (Chbistopheb 

NORTH . 

yard of the Village, The . 3=1 
1. 1 lie . . . . _;i 

roaM 11s 

\\ reck ol the Ship, Phi 

of Palms) ...... 

WlNTON. UBS. J. M. 

512 

WOLCOTT, JOHN Petkb Pdtdab . 

Hay-Da] 13-', 

Old Shi phei - D -, The . . . i::> 

WO] 1 1.,. II VRLES. 
Burial 01 Sir J Hoi . 311 

WOODWORTH, - VMU1 I .. 
old Oaken Bucket 23 

WOOLSEY, SABAH Sdsan ( ool- 

IDGE . 

When 458 

\\ OOLSON, t ONSTANI L FENI- 
HORE. 

"I Too" 439 

WORDSWORTH, WILLIAM. 

TfN 

1 from Uesolidior, 

Independence) 421 

Fidelity 

1 I\ Blake and Iln ■-. Gill , 

Lucy Gray 272 

ortality or, 

Ode to Duty 

>•' w or-iiip .... .Mr. 



K.-im ii.-tie.-t.d in the Water . . Iu0 

-.\ .-. 1 lie (from Lines < 

posed on ReHsitinj its J!iu,/,.<, 

.hih, 1$ 1798) 301 

She w ':i- a Phantom - 

soL.. 1 1 in 1 intern 

- ' 141 

To the D Isy ui 

\ ai'. iii^ 1 in 1. 1 . 

(tioni Tintern Aobey) . . 

■ . ■ . . . 406 

- 1 1 Much 11 I 

-: 

Yarrow rjuvlsited 305 

Yarrow Visited 306 

WOTTON, BIB HENRY. 
Happy Lin-, A ill 

YOUNG, EDWARD. 
Fortitude from Night Thoughts 49S 
Night (from Night Thoughts) . . 94 



BIOGRAPHIES OR AUTHORS. 



-^s-- 



ADAM, JEAN.— A Scottish schoolmistress, author of a vol- 
ume of poems, among which is the famous one of " The 
Sailor's Wife." Its authorship is erroneously given to 
"William Mickle in many collections. Born in 1710; died 
in 17C5. 

ADAMS, CHARLES FOLLEN— An American humorist, 
known chiefly from his "Leedle Yawcob Strauss," and 
poems of a similar character, which have been published 
in a volume, and enjoyed considerable popularity. Born 
in Mass. in 1S42. At one time a journalist of Detroit, Mich. 

ADAMS, JOHN QUINCY.— Sixth President of the United 
States. Born in Mass., 1767 ; died in Washington, 1848. He 
stands eminent among American statesmen as an accom- 
plished scholar, an astute diplomatist, a prolific writer of 
prose and verse, and a man of inflexible integrity. 

ADDISON, JOSEPH.— This immortal essayist, who also 
ranks high as a poet, was born in Wiltshire, England, 
May 1st, 1672, and was the son of the Dean of Litchfield. 
Entering Oxford at the age of fifteen, he early distin- 
guished himself. At twenty-three he published a poem 
on one of King William's campaigns, which brought him 
favor and a pension, and he then spent two years abroad. 
He wrote largely for "The Tattler" (Steele's project), and 
afterwards for " The Guardian." More famous than either 
was "The Spectator" — in point of time between the 
two— and to this he was the leading contributor. The 
fame these essays won was and is co-extensive with the 
English language. It was at its height when his "Tragedy 
of Cato" appeared, in 1713. On this his reputation as a 
poet principally rests, though he also wrote afew exquisite 
hymns and some other sacred pieces. In 1717 he was made 
Secretary of State, but held the office only a short time, 
retiring on a pension of £1,500 per annum. He died in 
the midst of busy literary labors, June 17, 1719. 

ALNSLIE, HEW— Was horn in Scotland in 1792; removed to 
America in 1S22, and died in Kentucky in 1878. Theevening 
of an active business life was spent in literary pursuits. 

ALDRICH, JAMES.— A native of Suffolk county, New York. 
He engaged early in mercantile pursuits, but left them for 
literature, and was engaged as a writer for various period- 
icals. BorninlSlO; died in 1850. 

ALDRICH, THOMAS BAILEY.— An American author, whose 
writings, both poetry and prose, are endued with the 
charms of a delicate fancy, playful humor, tender senti- 
ment, and graceful diction. Born in New Hampshire in 
1836, he lias led an active literary life since his youth; is 
author of several volumes, and (since 18S0) editor of the 
"Atlantic Monthly." 

ALEXANDER, CECIL FRANCES.— The wife of Wm. Alex- 
ander, Bishop of Derry, Ireland; author of "Moral Songs," 
"Hymns for Children," "Poems on Old Testament Sub- 
jects," etc. Born near Strathbane, Ireland, about 1830. 

ALFORD, HENRY.— Dean of Canterbury, Eng. ; a volumi- 
nous writer on critical and religious subjects, his chief 
work being "The Greek New Testament, with Notes." 
His poems appeared in 1S35, and his sacred lyrics in a vol- 
ume of "Psalms and Hymns," which he edited in 1844. 
Born in London, 1810; died in 1871. 

ALISON, RICHARD.— An English poet, of whom little is 
known. In 1590 lie published " A Description of the Visible 
Church," and in 1616 "An Houre's Recreation in Musieke, 
apt for Instruments and Voyces." 
(528) 



ALLEN, ELIZABETH AKERS (Florence Percy).— Her 
maiden name was Elizabeth Chase ; her first husband was 
the sculptor Paul Akers. She is widely known as the 
author of the lines, " Rock me to Sleep, Mother." Born in 
Maine, in 1832. 

ALLINGHAM, WILLIAM.— Began his literary career with a 
volume of poems in 1850; in 1854 he published "Day and 
Night Songs," and received a literary pension in 1864. Born 
at Ballyshannon, Ireland, in 1S28. 

AMES, MARY CLEMMER— A versatile and brilliant writer, 
widely known as the Washington correspondent of the 
New York " Independent." The author of several novels, 
and of the memoirs of the Cary sisters. Was born in 
CJtica, N. Y. 

ANDERSON, ALEXANDER.— Noted as the first engraver on 
wood in America. A man of diversified talents and at- 
tainments—a poet, musician, illustrator, engraver, natur- 
alist, and physician. Born in New York city, 1775; died in 
Jersey City, 1870. 

ANDREW, JOHN A.— Massachusetts' famous "War Gover- 
nor," and a distinguished lawyer and orator as well as 
statesman. Born in Maine in 1818; died at Boston in 1867. 

ARNOLD, EDWIN.— An English scholar and poet, born in 
1832. Was for a time principal of the Government Sanscrit 
College.atPoonoh, India. Afterreturningto England in 1860, 
became editor-in-chief of the London " Telegraph." Pub- 
lished in 1879 the remarkable poem entitled " The Light of 
Asia"; and three years later the " Indian Song of Songs." 

ARNOLD, GEORGE.— Was born in New York in 1834 and died 
in 1865. An edition of his poems was published the year 
after his death. The most widely known, and perhaps 
the best, of his pieces is " The Jolly Old Pedagogue." 

ARNOLD, MATTHEW.— An English poet and critical essay- 
ist, the son of Dr. Thomas Arnold, the historian and head 
teacher of Rugby. Was born in 1822, and elected to the 
Chair of Poetry at Oxford in 1857 Is author of several 
books, and one of the foremost magazine writers of the 
day. 

AUSTEN, SARAH.— Was noted for her elegant translations 
from the German. Her daughter, Lady Duff Gordon, in- 
herited her talent, gaining by it a similar distinction. Was 
born in England in 1793; died in 1867. 

AYTON, SIR ROBERT.— A favorite in the Court of James 
VI., and a poet of considerable merit, composing verses of 
refined elegance in Greek, Latin, French, and English. 
Born in Scotland in 1570; died in 1638. 

BACON, FRANCIS, LORD.— The illustrious philosopher and 
statesman, whose fame sheds lustre on the reigns of 
Queen Elizabeth and King James VI. Endowed with 
every advantage of birth, talent, and education, his career 
was crowned with the highest honors, and marked by as 
dire a downfall as is recorded in the history of mankind. 
The "Novum Organum" was his grandest work, and his 
volume of miscellaneous "Essays" the most popular. 
Countless editions of the latter have been sold. Born in 
1561 ; died in 1626. 

BAILEY, J. M.— Belongs to the distinctive school of Ameri- 
can humorists; earned a national repute by the witty 
character of his writings in "The Danbury News," and 
from them derived his familiar title of "Danbury News 
Man." 



BIOGK.U.IIKS OF AUTHOBS. 



529 



BAILEY, PHILIP James.— Published at the age of fcwen»y- 
three the poem ol "Festus," which secured a *»iit but 
transient popularity. The several later works ol the 
author have failed to secure him the fame which hi- iir-t 
Juvenile production promised. Born In England in 1816. 

BAILLIE, .in \\s A.— aii English poetess who enjoyed great 
celebrity In her early day, but lived to see her genius 
eclipsed by later writers. Her chief works were her "Plays 
on tin- Passions." Born in Scotland in I7i;j; died In I85L 

BANCROFT, GEORGE.— An American scholar and author, 
whose ability as a statesman i- forgotten In hi- renow n as 
a historian. If e has fulfilled with great acceptani 
duties of Secretary ol the Navy, Minister Plenipotentiary 
to Eugland, American Minister at the Court i>i Berlin, and 
Minister Plenipotentiary to the German Empire. n>- 
ohiel work Is a comprehensive "History 
States," begun in 1834 and stl Born in 

Moss, in 1800. 

i:\i.i-.\i i i » . \\\\ ii HTIA.— An English writer who did 
much to :ul\ unco tlio education ol children and the posi- 
tion ol her sex. I o hi c bi Ion - thodlstlnotl I oi 

ting i ks exprcsslj for young readers. Born In 1743; 

died in 1825. 

u \i:r."t R, JOHN -A - [temporary wit] I 

oer. Born about 1320; dl 

BARNARD, LAD! ANNE, l Scottish poetess, whose name 
served by the One ballad ol "Auld B 
in 1750; died in I 

BARNES, u hi [AM.— An En i t, and 

logist. Born in 1810. 

BARN1 11:1.11. RICH 1RD.— An English author wbo published 
i d poems towards the close ol the alxfc i nth a atury. 
Born in 1574. 

BARB, m a i hi \- — A Scottish poet, known bytl ndear- 

Ing title oi " The Children's r I ,>u in 

Edinburgh In 1831. 

BARRY, Mil il mi. JOSEPH.— An 1 ontrib- 

nted to the Dublin "Nal ." in- most i.u. ■ 

"The Place \\ here Man Should Die," was Qj 
1843. Born In 1815. 

I?\ II-. t il \i:i OTTE i tSKE.— A b u hi I I 
Mass., Born in the city ol New fork. 

BE \ l ill-:. JAMES.— A well-known Scottish i 
physician. "The Minstrel" « i- his mosl popular work. 
Born in 1735; died > - 

BKDDOES, THOMAS LOVEL] -A physician, the 

ncphi li, in his hum -■ 

died "The Bride's Tragedy, which excited gi 
admiration u< a work ol promise. Horn In 1803; <ii. a 
in 1849. 

BE! i HER, HENRY W w:i> -A bod of the eminent divine, 
Dr. Lyman Beeoher, be Is In his turn the most eminent 
pulpit orator in America. His lectures and sermons afford 
admirable examples ol spontaneous and inspiring elo- 
quence. SI 1847, Mr. Bcecher has been the pasl 

Plymouth Church, Brooklyn. Born in Connecticut in 1813. 

BEERS, ETHEL II SN.— Was born in New York In 1827, and 
died in 1879. Hcrwidelj -known lyric beginning "A - 
Along the Potomao" i- among the many popular poems 
of disputed authorship. 

BENJAMIN, PARE.— An American poet and journalist. 
Born In 1809; died in i- I. 

BENNETT, HENRY.— An Irish poet, author of "St Patrick 
was a Gentleman." Born at Cork about 1735. 

BEKKELJ Y, GEORGE.— A celebrated divine and philoso- 
pher. Only one poem of his writing lias .-m-\ i\ ed, inn that 
contains an element of enduring life. Born in Ireland, 
InlGS-l; died in 1753. 



BLAINE, JAMES I -i 1. 1. 1. -I'll:.— An American statesman of 
popular niii- and prominent position In the Republican 
pans-. Has been a member ol both houses ol i ■ 
and Secretarj ol State under President Garfield. Born 
in Pennsj l\ aula in 18 10. 

BLAKE, WILLIAM.— An English artist and poet ol groat 
and unique talents. Hi- works were ol too eccentrio a 
character to be easily under* his death tho 

genius which created them has received a more Just ap- 
preciation. He was born in it.'.t. and after a life of sad 
le with povt n\ and obscuritj died in 1828. 

BLOOMFIELD, ROBERT.— An unlettered shoemaker, who 

ormed the w terra! feat oi composing a poem of 

■ 1,600 lines while at work over the last, and completing 

it before a word was written down. Tho poem, nam. -a "The 

Parmer's Boy," created an Immi nse sensation, 20,000 

sold in three years, and Beverol translations 

appealing. Other works were produced by the 

the first, Horn in England in 

i. in KEY.— A di imatio and lyric poet 
American Minister to Constantinople b 
i i Philadclplils i 

BOLTNGBROKl . I ORD - in I ogUsh poUtdcal writer and 
.■ r, contemporaneous with Pope, Swift, and Addison. 
He was bril . Bom 

in 1678; di( a in 1751. 

BON \i.\ HOH \ i ii - - \ minlst* r of t h of 

i-.i, h i poetical woi ■ msola- 

BOXNE1 , ' il u:i l - ■ 

igo, distinguished also by Buccessfu 
various irnpo . oment Born 

in llamilt N. 1. in 1831. 

BOl RDIL1 ON, i i: \m i- H ,-w bill ; iduate 

at Oxford, he won rcputal as a pool i 

eight lines in l"l 

BOWLES, WILLIAM USLE.— An English clergyman and 
voluminous writer. Hi- sonnets ha tly ad- 

i I. Bom in 1762 . ■ 

I'.uw RING, SIR JOHN.— An English statesman and II 

ror his attainments in the Sclavonic languages. Born 
i 1872. 

BRAINARD, JOHN G. C— An ' and Journal- 

ist Horn In I onneoticut in 1796; died in 1828. 

BR] rON, Nil it'll VS.— An English pastoral poet of tho 
Elizabethan era. Born in 1555; • l i • - - 1 In 1624. 

BRONTE, CHARLOTTE.— The mosl famous member of a 
singularly gifted family. Her first published novel 
i ian immediate and universal sensation by 

it- remarkable power, it was to irley," 

" Villette," and t he i •• ■ ~ t Im 1 1 
Born in England in 1816; dieii in 1855. 

BROOKS, PHILLIPS.— A cli rgymanol the Episcopal Church, 
distinguished by striking oratorical powers. Born in 
, l-.--.. 

BROWN, WILLIAM GOLDSMITH.— An American editor, 
teacher, and | Several < er pi< • -, — as 

"Mo to Hi : i idred Years to 

Comi . havei ajoyed a wide and lasting popularity. Born 
in Vermont in 1812. 

BRO'W m:. ' ii \im.i- P.— vitTEsrtra Ward, -a clever and 
original humorous writer, who won equal favor in England 
and America by the quaint drollery of his lecture- and 
sketches. Born in .Maine in 1834; died in Eugland in 1SC7. 



530 



BIOGRAPHIES OF AUTHORS. 



BROWNE, FRANCIS F.~ An editor and literary critic. Con- 
ducted the " Lakeside Monthly" magazine (Chicago, 1869 
to 1874), and since 18S0 editor of the Chicago " Dial." Born 
in Vermont in 1843. 

BROWNE, WILLIAM.— An English author who achieved 
distinction by poems written before he was twenty, hut 
fell into silence and obscurity after he was thirty. Born 
in 1590; died in 1045. 

BROWNELL, HENRY HOWARD.— An American poet, whose 
principal book, "Lyrics of a Day," appeared iri 1804. He 
is best known by his stirring poem on "The Bay Fight," 
and other naval pieces. Born in Conn, in 1820; died in 1872. 

BROWNING, ELIZABETH BARRETT.— The greatest female 
poet of England or of modern times. High as is the stand- 
ard of the poetry she produced, had she possessed physi- 
cal powers commensurate with her genius she would 
undoubtedly have attained a still loftier rank by the force 
of sustained effort. Many of her poems are among the 
most popular in our language. She was married to the 
poet Robert Browning, in 1846. Born in 1807 ; died in 1861. 

BROWNING, ROBERT.— A poet of universal genius, whose 
fame, on accountof the obscurities and eccentricities of his 
style, has not been equal to his deserts. One of his great- 
est works, " Paracelsus," was written when he was twenty- 
three. His repute is slowly increasing, and the title of 
"the poet of poets " may yet be exchanged for that of the 
poet of cultivated readers. Born in England in 1812. 

BRYANT, WILLIAM CULLEN.— One of America's first and 
most honored poets. He began writing poetry at the age 
of ten, and his most celebrated production, "Thanatopsis," 
was written when he was but eighteen. All his poems, 
whether early or late, show a rare uniformity of excel- 
lence, and a close and fine observation of nature. From 
1826 until his death, a term of fifty-two years, Mr. Bryant 
held with esteem the position of editor of the New York 
"Evening Post." He was born in Mass. in 1794; died in 
New York in 1878. 

BRYDGES, SIR SAMUEL EGERTON.— An English writer 
and bibliographer of eccentric character. His shorter 
poems show imaginative power and some of the high gifts 
of the poet. Born in 1762; died in 1837. 

BUNGAY, GEORGE W.— A newspaper editor and lecturer. 
Born in New York about 1830. 

BURKE, EDMUND.— A statesman, orator and writer of com- 
manding influence and talent; a leader among the great 
Englishmen of his time. Born in Dublin in 1728; died 
in 1797. 

BURLEIGH, CECIL, LORD.— The renowned statesman who, 
under Elizabeth, was virtually prime minister of England 
for a period of forty years. Born in 1520 ; died in 1598. 

BURLEIGH, WILLIAM HENRY'.— An eloquent writer and 
speaker, identified with the anti-slavery cause and tem- 
perance reform. He was by nature a poet and enthusiast. 
Born in Connecticut in 1812; died in 1871. 

BURNS, ROBERT.— " The National Poet of Scotland"; was 
born in 1759, and died in 1796. His simple lyrics sprang 
from a brain fired with the purest flames of genius, and a 
heart throbbing with genuine human feeling. A peasant's 
son, his life was made up of poverty, hardship and sorrow. 
Its pathos appeals to our charity, and the errors which 
shadowed it are forgotten in our love. Wherever the 
poetry of Burns is read, his name will be spoken with ten- 
derness and enthusiasm. 

BURROUGHS, JOHN.— An American author, whose writings, 
chiefly on the scenery and life of nature, are exquisite 
prose idyls. He looks upon all things with the eye of a 
poet, and has a rare power of graceful expression. Born 
In New York in 1837. 



BUTLER, SAMUEL.— An English humorist, famed as the 
author of ." Hudibras," a satire on the Puritans, abounding 
, in wit and enjoying a lasting celebrity. Born in 1612; died 
in 1680. 

BYROM, JOHN.— A minor English poet. Born in 1691; die* 
in 1703. 

BYRON, GEORGE GORDON NOEL, LORD.— One of the great- 
est of modern English poets. To genius of a high order 
he joined an attractive person and many engaging quali- 
ties. No poet has been more widely discussed, and none 
has had his private life subjected to a severer, scrutiny. 
But whatever his failings as a man— and these have been 
scandalously exaggerated— his position as a poet is of the 
loftiest. Borninl7SS; died in 1824. 

CAMPBELL, THOMAS— An eminent Scottish poet. Pub- 
lished his " Pleasures of Hope" at twenty-one. His lyrics 
are greatly admired, the choicest being familiar as house- 
hold words. Born in 1777 ; died in 1844. 

CAREY, HENRY.— An English poet and musician, who com- 
posed a number of songs, dramas, and burlesques. Born 
in 1700; died by his own hand in 1743. 

CARLETON, WILL.— Author of the popular " Farm Ballads" 
and "Farm Legends." Born in Michigan in 1845. 

CARLYLE, THOMAS.— An English historian and essayist, 
who produced a greater impression on the thought of his 
age than any other writer of the nineteenth century. His 
intellect was mighty in grasp, his character was rugged, 
his disposition severely critical, and his writings were a 
mingling of these grand and harsh qualities. His "History 
of The French Revolution " is graphically denominated the 
epic of modern times. There is a tremendous stimulus in 
his works, and an eloquence that is electrifying. Born in 
Scotland in 1795; died in 1881. 

CARY, ALICE.— An American author, whose writings dis- 
play rare poetic sensibility. Her name, with that of her 
sister Phoebe, is peculiarly endeared to American readers. 
Born in Ohio in 1820; died in 1871. 

CARY, PHCEBE.— Sister of Alice Cary, and her life-long asso- 
ciate in literary work. Born in Ohio in 1824; died in 1871. 

CHATTERTON, THOMAS.— An English poet, whose preco- 
cious genius and untimely fate have gained him great 
notoriety. Born in 1752, and at the age of seventeen com- 
mitted suicide by poison. 

CHAUCER, GEOFFREY.— England's first great poet, called 
distinctively the "Father of English Poetry." Of good 
birth, he was connected with royalty by marriage, and 
held trusted places in the service of Edward III. His 
principal work was " The Canterbury Tales," said to be 
written after he was sixty. Born in 1328; died in 1400. 

CHESTERFIELD, PHILIP, EARL OF.— Best known as the 
author of " Chesterfield's Letters," which were written to 
his son, and never intended for publication. Born in 
1694; died in 1773. 

CIBBER, COLLEY.— A witty English dramatist and actor. 
Poet laureate to George II., yet a single poem only of his 
writing is now remembered. Born in 1671; died in 1757. 

CLARE, JOHN.— The Northamptonshire peasant poet. Born 
inEnglandinl793; died in 1864. 

CLARK, JAMES G.— An American poet and musician. Born 
in New York in 1830. 

CLARKE, WILLIS GAYLORD.— An American poet of prom- 
inence in his time, and editor of the old " Knickerbocker 
Magazine." Born in New York in 1810; died in 1841. 

CLEMENS, SAMUEL C. (Mark Twain). — An American 
humorist of quaint and original talent. His books have 
had an extraordinary sale. Born in Missouri in 1835. 



BIOGRAPHIES OF AUTHORS. 



531 



OLOUGH, ARTHUR HUGH.— An English poet, a favorite 
pupil "i Dr. Thomas Arnold; for a time a resident "i Cam- 
bridge, Ma--, iii- later career scarcely fulfilled bis youth- 
nil promise. Born In 1819; died in 1861, 

COLERIDGE HA! sonol tbepoet - P. Cole- 

id the inheritor • •! mncb ol in- father's extraor- 
dinary talent. Born in England In 1798; died in 1849. 

COLERIDGE, SAMUEL TAYLOR.— One ol the towering 
names In modem English literature. Coleridge was en- 
dowed with magnlflci nl genius, bul Its achievements were 
Badlj limited bj a feeble energj and Impotent will. His 
poems, fragmentary at best, are creations ol 
power, ih- lam. :i - a conversatlonalisl baa novel been 
surpassed. Born in it:.', died in 1834, 

COLFAX, -'in i u.u. — eventeenth Vice-President of the 

United -<tati--. greatly esteemed in public ami prri ate lite. 

Horn in \--u \ . .1 k in I-.'.. 

COLLINS, MORTIMER.— luthor of several novels and vol- 
umes ol poetry, ami a frequent contributor to " Punch" 
ami other periodicals. Born in England in 1827; died 
in 1876, 

COLLINS, H Ml i \ 
monts. Hlsbriel and sad life ended in insanity, Born in 
17J<|, died in 1756. 

COLLI BR, ROBERT.— A native ot Engl ind,of humble birth 
.'. oducatlon. II.- came to this count] 
of -'7. ami « orked at in- trade ■ ■' b . nnl 
after in- forsooh the anvil for tbo pulpit, ami i 
on.- ,,i the most popular preachers InlboCnii 
His literary style Is a model of Saxon slmplicil P 
Ol a 1 miai ian . bui oh in New Tork ell Born in 1823 

(Ml U \v i.i 0R( 
hnmorlst and dramatisl 
popular on thestagi . Born In 1762; died In . 

CONS! IB! E, in HE'S -An I i llab poet; bom about 1B60; 
died In 1600. 

COOK, 1.1.1/ L— A favoritl En lis Iveda lit- 

erary pension In 1864. Born In 1-17. 

COOKE JOHN ESI 1 N.— Brotfc I Philip Pendli I 

and, like iiiin, a proline and pleasant writer. Born in 
Virginia in 1830. 

COOKE, PHILIP PEND1 ETON.— An accomplished man of 

letter-. Born in Virginia in 1816; died I 
COOKE, ROSE rERRT.— Author ol many poems and short 

prose sketches. Born in Conn, I 
COOLBRITH, IN \ D.— A Cal -nia poet, whose-* 

attracted attention in ti Overland Monthly." A volume 

of iier poems has appeared In print. 
OORB1 ii MISSES.— Natives of England, the authors of a 

number of Juvenile books which have met with high 

success, 

OORWIN, THOMA! — \n American lawyer and statesman, 
and one of the most popular orators ol his time. He. was 
Governor ol Ohio, U. >. Senator from the - 
and Minister to Mexico. Born In Kentucky in 1794; died 

in I--".. 

OOWPER, WILLIAM.— "The most popular poel ol his gen- 
oration," whose writings modified the tone of Englisb 
poetrj . Infecting it with a more earnest and simple spirit. 
His greatest work was "The Task," but the best known at 
tne present day is the ballad ot "John Gilpin." Born in 
1731; died in 1800. 

CRABBE, GEORGE.— An English poet and divine, who de- 
puted the life ol the pom- and lowly In verse of simple 
graphic power. Born In 1754; died in 1832. 



CRAIK, DIN \n 3d \i:i \ HI88 HtrrxM k) - In English nov- 
ellst, whose voluminous writings are deservedly popular 
for tin ir health] moral tone and truthful pi- I 

i known ol ber i ks is " John 

Halifax, Gentleman," one ot the standard works ol Eng- 
lish fiction. Born In 1826. 

CB \w i 'd:i>. .ii i.i ik.— An Irish lady, a contributor to tho 
Lond !>." 

CROSS, MARIAN EVANS LEWES GEOEG1 ELIOT).— An 
i lovelist and poete--. standing in the first rank 

in In her ow ,, . 
Her writings wen- invariably characterized by 
powerful originality, wide learning, mat I 

invention, and vigorous and sinewy diction 
cured her fame and wealth, and the world 
Born in 1820; died In 1881. 

OTJNNTNGH \M. \i.i. \v ist, and mls- 

ceUaneous writer. His most esteemed works were bio- 
graphical. Born In 1784; died in 1842. 

CURTIS, GEORGE WILLIAM.— Bi o editor of 

. '. ." and a ehanipion ol civil service re- 
form, rhc author ol a number ol charming 
fiction and travel. His writings are marked bj 
finish, i.e. n penetration, and sound Judgment 
of the most brilliant oratoi - ol bis time Born In Rhode 

GUSHING, < \i i i:.-\n American scholar and | 
tlnguishi 

roducedmanyliti i 

J works. Born in Mass. in 1800; dii I in 1879. 
■ IEORGE \V.— The authoi of a volumi 
published in 1857. Born In Kentucky in 1814; dii 
DAN \. RII il VRD HENRY.— An \m. rican authi r who ac- 
quired repute In tho first ball ol this • i 
In 17-7: died in 1878. 
DANIEL, 5AMU1 I..— An English poet and hi -ton 

lied In 1619. 
DARWIN, i RASMUS.— An Ingenious English i ist 

and pool ; ftUthi 

several prose works evincing mncb metaphysl 
Grandfather of Charles Darwin, tbe i mini nt naturalist. 
. lit d In 1802. 
DAVIS, rHOMAS OSBORNE.— An Irish poet and patriot. 

m 1814 : died in 1845. 
Di i.'i in. i y, rHOMAS.— An English author oi 
powers, but trammeled In their use by tho I 
opium-cater. He had a masterly command of language, 

• : ami ennvers I .ally daz- 

zling, horn in 1785; died in ! 

DeVERE, -ii: VUBREY.— An Dish poet and 
Born in 17--: died in 1846. 

nn KENS, CH UtLES.— One of the first ol 
novelists of the present century Butoneortwo authors 

can rival him in the department of ficl , and 

him in the enthusiasm ..i in- readers. 1 1 

a host "t admirer- with a feeling ol personal 

gratitude, such was tho tenderness ol his 

charm ..i bis transcendent talent. Horn In 1812; died 

in 1870. 

DIMOND, WILLIAM.— An Enu-ii-h theatrical 

ist and poet; he is now known by his "Mariner's 

Dr.ain." Horn about 1780; died about 1814. 

DOANE, GEORGE W.— Bisbopol New Jersey. A poet and 
scholar ..t refined am! cultivated taste. Bom in s-.-w 

in 17:''': .bed in l- - . I. 

DOBELL, SYDNEY.— An English poet. Born in 1824; died 

111 1S74. 



532 



BIOGKAPHIES OF AUTHORS. 



DOBSON, AUSTIN.— One of the foremost of the younger 
English poets of the day, and an accomplished man of 
letters. Born in 1840. 

DODDRIDGE, PHILIP.— A celebrated English hymnist, and 
author of religious works. His hymns are in use in most 
Protestant churches. Born in 1702; died in 1751. 



-The accomplished editor of "Harper's 



DODGE, MARY E.- 
Bazar." 

DODGE, MARY MAPES.— Widely known as the editor of 
" St. Nicholas," and a writer of juvenile literature. Born 
in 1838. 

DODSLEY, ROBERT.— An English author and publisher 
of note. He was the flrst to give employment to Samuel 
Johnson. Born in 1703 ; died in 1764. 

DOMETT, ALFRED.— Contributed a number of lyrics to 
" Blackwood's Magazine," among them his celebrated 
"Christmas Hymn." Born in England about 1815. 

DOUDNEY, SARAH. (Afterwards Mrs. Clark.)— An Ameri- 
can, whose title to the authorship of the beautiful and 
popular poem of "The Water-Mill," claimed by several 
authors, is not now to be disputed. 

DOUGLAS OF FINGLAND.— The author of the original song 
of " Annie Laurie," which is in two stanzas, and was 
written prior to 1688. The lady who inspired the poem 
married a Mr. Ferguson. 

DRAKE, JOSEPH RODMAN.— An American poet of preco- 
cious genius, remembered chiefly as the author of "The 
Culprit Fay" and the stirring poem of "The American 
Flag." Born in New York in 1795 ; died in 1820. 

DRAYTON, MICHAEL— An English poet, whose name is 
preserved mainly by his spirited ballad of "Agincourt." 
Born in 1563; diettm 1031. 

DRUMMOND, WILLIAM.— An early Scotch poet, the first to 
■write in pure English dialect. Of high repute in his day. 
Born in 15S5 ; died in 1649. 

DRYDE^, JOHN.— An English poet and dramatist, whose 
writings mark an epoch in the progress of the literature 
of his country. He excelled in pi'ose as well as poetry. 
Was poet laureate. Born in 1631 ; died in 1700. 

DUFFERIN, LADY.— A grand- daughter of Richard Brins- 
ley Sheridan, sister of Mrs. Norton, and mother of the 
Earl of Dufferin, late Governor-General of Canada. Her 
literary reputation was made by "The Lament of the 
Irish Emigrant." Born in 1807 ; died in 1867. 

DUFFY, SIR CHARLES GAVAN.— An Irish poet and jour- 
nalist. Emigrating to Australia, he became Prime Minis- 
ter of the colony in 1871. Born in 1816. 

DUGANNE, AUGUSTINE J. H.— An American poet and 
novelist. Born in Mass. in 1823. 

DURIVAGE, FRANCIS A.— An American poet and magazin- 
ist. Born in Mass. in 1814. 

D WIGHT, TIMOTHY.— A prominent theologian, and for 
many years President of Yale College. One of the earliest 
of American poets. Born in Mass. in 1752 ; died in 1817. 

DY'ER, JOHN.— A Welsh poet. Born in 1700 ; died in 1758. 

DYER, SIR EDWARD.— A writer of the Elizabethan age. 

Was employed by the Queen in several foreign embassies. 

Born in 1540; died in 1607. 
EASTMAN, CHARLES GAMAGE.— A journalist and poet. 

Born in Maine in 1816 ; died in Vermont in 1861. 

ELLIOT, EBENEZER.-The English " Corn-Law Rhymer." 
Bom of the people, he espoused their cause, and with fer- 
vid zeal plead in his verses for the relief of their oppres- 
sions. Born in 1781 ; died in 1849. 



EMERSON, RALPH WALDO.— An eminent American essay- 
ist, poet, and idealist; distinguished for originality and 
subtlety of thought, for exalted conceptions of conduct, 
and for a life consistent with his highest teachings. Amer- 
ica has produced no writer or scholar of greater influence 
and renown. His works have had a profound effect in 
molding earnest minds. Born in Mass. in 1803; died 

EMMET, ROBERT.— An Irish patriot and revolutionist, 
whose career excited a romantic interest. Was born in. 
1780, and executed for treason in 1803. 

ENGLISH, THOMAS DUNN.— A physician and poet. Bom 
in Pennsylvania in 1819. 

EVERETT, EDWARD.— An American scholar, statesman, 
and orator, especially famed for eloquence of the most 
finished character. He filled with credit various impor- 
tant public positions. Born in Mass. in 1794; died in 1S65. 

FALCONER, WILLIAM.-A Scotchman of humble birth, 
winning fame by a single remarkable poem, " The Ship- 
wreck." Born in 1732 ; died in 1769. 

FAWCETT, EDGAR.— An American poet, novelist, and 
dramatist. Born in New York in 1847. 

FIELDING, HENRY.— Entitled the "Father of the English 
Novel." His first fiction was intended as a satire on Rich- 
ardson's " Pamela," and had a prodigious success. His 
best novel was "Tom Jones." Born in 1707; died in 1754. 

FIELDS, JAMES THOMAS.— An American publisher and 
author, whose character and writings were equally genial 
and charming. Born in New Hampshire in 1817; died 
in 1881. 

FINCH, FRANCIS MILES— A lawyer and judge. Born in. 
Ithaca, N. Y., in 1S27. His poetic fame rests chiefly on the 
fine lyrics of " The Blue and the Gray" — published first in 
the " Atlantic Monthly," and suggested by the women of 
Coluinbus. Miss., decorating alike the graves of Union and 
Confederate dead— and "Nathan Hale," read at Yale Col- 
lege in 1853. Hale was a capoain in the Continental army, 
who was found by the British within their lines at New 
York, and, by order of Lord Howe, was executed the next 
morning, Sept. 22, 1776. 

FINLEY, JOHN. -Born in Virginia in 1797; died in 1866. 

FLAGG, WILSON.— An ornithologist, and the author of sev- 
eral volume of delightful sketches of nature. A native oi' 
Massachusetts. 

FLETCHER, GILES.— Born in Kent, England, about 1550; 
diedinlSlO. 

FORRESTER, ALFRED A. (Alfred CROWQUILL).— An Eng- 
lish artist and humorous writer; the first illustrator of 
" Punch" and the " Illustrated News," and the author of a 
number of books combining humorous sketches with pen 
and pencil. Born in 1805. 

FOSTER, STEPHEN COLLINS.— A musician and poet, whose 
negro songs, original in words and melody, have had a 
wonderful popularity. Born in Pennsylvania in 1826 ; died 

FRANKLIN, BENJAMIN.— An American sage, statesman, 
and scientist, who is to be named among the great men of 
the world. A signer of the Declaration of Independence, 
and one of the framers of the Constitution of the U. S. 
His writings, on a wide range of subjects, fill ten octavo 
volumes, and are remarkable for the purity of their literary 
style as well as for their sagacity and depth of thought. 
Many of his wise sayings have become proverbs among 
all English-speaking people. Born in 1706; died in 1790. 

FRENEAU, PHILIP.— An able political humorist of the Revo- 
lutionary period, and a prolific writer of verse. Born in 
1752; diedinlS32. 



BIOGRAPHIES OF AUTHORS. 



533 



rULLER, MARGARET (Countess D'Obsolj \ remark- 
ably gifted woman, noted as a conversationist and n titer. 
.<iic was conspiouona among the Company ol brilliant 
mages born in New England at the beginning ol tbe 
jent century. Born in 1810; died by shipwreck in 1850. 

<. \i . E, FRAN) ES DANA.— An American poetess, and popu- 
lar public lecturer. Born in Ohio in 

GALLAGHER, WILLIAM D.-A Journalist and poet, anthor 
i>i ■■ Miami, and other Poems." Born in Pennsylvania 

in 1808. 
GARFIELD, JAMES ABRAM.— Twentieth President ol tbe 
United States. A statesman ol fine abilities, lofty motives, 

■ manly character, whose assassination whili 
Magistrate <>i the nation pIuiilt.-iI a whole people in 
moii in in- Born in Ohio in 1831; died in 1881. 

GABRIOK, DAVID.— Tbe most famous actor « 
adorned the English stage, He was an accomplished 
playwright and a writer ol considerable verse. Born in 
me; diodin 1770. 

GAY, JOHN.— A poet, contemporary with Swift and i'.'i"-, 
and heal know n a- 1 1,,< am lior ot ■ I 
and iii>- ballad ol " Bla< k Ey< .1 Susan ' t;..i □ In 109 
in 1732. 

GILBERT, w ii i i \\i -. -An i agllsh dramatist and poet. 

Associated with Arthur Sullivan In the i luct 

"Pinafore" and other popular burlesque opei 
in 1830. 

GILDER, RICH VRD W VTSON.-A Journalisl and poet, as- 

itei d "i 1 Ibni i ini n^ founda- 

« , and successor to Dr. ilolland as editor of tho " Oen- 

tui> Magazine." BornlnNew York in 1644. 

GOLDSM1 i II. OLIA 1. 1; .-<»,„■ ol th, ,,.., ,„ 

i i i-ii literature. He wrote a vast amount of proso with 

ii grace and simplicity. He produi • d 1< -• i 
but it was Imbued with an Individual charm. "The Vicar 
<>i Wakefield " is now bis most popular proso work, and 
his •• Deserted Village" 1 
Classics. Born in Ireland in 17.'-. died in 1774. 

GOODALE, DORA READ.-The yonng I two sist 

iblo for precocity. A volum ! their poems was 

published when they were respet ttvelj 15 and 12. Born in 
Mass. in I860. 

GOODALE, El VINE. -Sister ol Dora Read Goodale, and of 
1 Ired poetical temperament In 181 I. 

<.ui 1. 1 1. JOHN B.— Widely known as a temperance lecturer 
dramatic power. Boru in England in 1^17. 

GRAY, DAVID.— A Scotch poet ..1 humble birth and early 
death. Born in 1838; died In 1801. 

GRAY, THOM VS.- Vn English poet and BChol ir ol renown, 
who produced but little, but that littli i, c ol 

excellence. Mis "Elegj ina Country Churchyaid" Is an 
example <■! finish) .1 poetical composition, which has en - 
Bured it- author immortal fame. Born in 1710; died in 1771. 

GR1 1 \i . VLBERT GORTON.— Tlioanthoroffugitivepoems, 

ol which "Old Grimes" is the most famous. Bora in 

Rhode 1- 1 in 1802; died in 1868. 

GRIF1 is. 1.1:1; VLD.— An Irish poi 1 and novelist. Born in 

1-";; died in 1840. 
-GIUSWOLD, 11 \ rTIETYNG.— Aladyof much poetic talent, 

author.. 1 a volume ol verse entitled "Apple Blossoms." 

Besides In Wisconsin. 

HALE, SARAH J — An American writer, whose long career 
in literature lias been honorable to herself and her sex. 
For many years editor of "The Lady's Book," and it- pre- 
decessor, " The Lady's Magazine-" Born in New Hamp- 
shire in 17'.'.".. 



HALPINE, 1 HARLES GRAHAM 'M11.1 ;a Rl 11.1.1 -A well, 
know n poel and iournalist; a native ol Ireland and an 
adopted citizen ol a riea. Bom in 1829; died in 1869. 

IIAL1.AM, aim in B HENRY.— Son ol the eminent historian, 
Arthur iiaiiam, and a youth of great promise. He was 
the subject ot Teniij son s"In Memonam." Born in Lon- 
don In 1811 ; died in U 

HALLECK, 1 1 1/1,1:1. 1. m..- Holds an honor,, 1 place in 
American literature by his few but excellent writings. 
Hie "Marco Bozzaris" is pronounced the best war Uric 
In the language. Born In Connecticutin 1790; died in 1867. 

HALL, 11 GENE J. - Vn American poet, author ol several 
popular volumes of verse. Bom in \ ermont in i-r.. 

HALL, NEWMAN —A prominent English divine and tem- 
perance advocate, iii^ "Pilgrim's Songs" have had a 
« Ide circulation. Born In 1810. 

HANNA1 ORD 1 land in 1840. 

many years of Cincinnati, Ohio, but now ol 
HARRIS, JOEL I HANDLER.— Author ot many popular 

BtOl Ii ,., ujg] 

he published a volume entitled "Uncle Remus," whicb 
1 much an. 1,11-1. as a folk-lore. 

HARTE, i-.i;i.i -\,i American author, ,,1 original and 

unique talents. In ol pi ser life on tho 

k out a new line In Action, which ho 

has worked with marked skill and buci — . Born in New 

Vork In 
HAVEN, GILB1 1: 1 - \ Bishop in tho Methodist Church, and 

a writer ol prosi and rcrso. Born in Hass. in 1821; died 

in I--;. 

HAVERGAL, FRANCES i;.-\n English poi teas, whose writ- 
ings are chiefly ol a devotional charactt r. 
died m 1879. 

II \u FHORNE, N \ni VNIEl . 1 . gn at* -t ol A 
novi lists. HI mcholy, busy- 
ing itself with ti 

action and character. UN literal-} - idel of 

died in 1864. 

II \i . JOHN.— Vn l mi onspic- 
uous ability. Author of "Pike Count] Ballads,"*'! 

Ian I >a;. -, ' , to. B01 D in Indiana in 1 

HAYNE, I'M 1. II VMILTON.— An American poet and prose 
writer. Born in South Carolina 

HA YNE - , ROBERT YOI M..-A11 American statesman of fine 
abilities. Noted for brilliant debate with Wi , 1 Waa 
U. S. Sei itor and Govornoi ina. Born in 

South Carolina in 1791 ; died in 1840. 

HEBER, REGINALD (BISHOP).— An English scholar and 
clergyman, whose celebrated missionary hymn "From 
Greenland's Icy Mountains" is Bung throughout tho 
world, lie died in the service of missions in India. Born 
in 17-;; died in 1-:.;. 

III 1 PS, VRTHUR.— An able English historian and essayist^ 

the esteemed Sei rctaryof (.' a Victoria. Enter said 

of him: "There is nothing which Helps might not do." 
Born iii 1818; died in . 

HEM VNS, l-KLin \ DOROTHEA.-An EngUsh poetess, uni- 
versallj admired during her life. Her maiden name was 
Browne, Bom in 1701; died in 1835. 

HENRY, PATRICK.— A distinguished American patriot and 
orator. Born in Virginia in 1730; died 

HERBERT, GEORGE— An English clergyman and poet of 
devout life and saintly character. Bom in 1593; died 
iu 1632. 



534 



BIOGRAPHIES OF AUTHORS. 



HERUICK, ROBERT.— An English lyric poet of repute dur- 
ing the Commonwealth and Restoration. His songs are 
replete with sparkling melody. Born in London in 1591; , 
died in 3674. 

HEYWOOD, THOMAS.— An actor, dramatic poet, and prose 
writer, of the times of Elizabeth, James I., and Charles I. 
Born in 1570 ; died in 1649. 

HIGGINSON, THOMAS WENTWORTH.— A brilliant Amer- 
ican writer, who left the ministry to take part in the civil 
war. Since then has devoted himself to letters. Born in 
Mass. in 1823. 

HOFFMAN, CHARLES FENNO.— An American writer who 
held a conspicuous place in general literature in the last 
generation. Born in New York in 1S06 ; died in 

HOGG, JAMES.— A Scotch poet, known as "The Ettrick 
Shepherd." Born in 1770; died in 1835. 

HOLLAND, JOSIAH GILBERT— An American journalist, 
poet, and novelist. Associate editor o£ the " Springfield 
Republican" for seventeen years, and editor of " Scrib- 
ner's Monthly" for the last ten years of his life. His writ- 
ings have enjoyed a wide popularity, and exerted a whole- 
some moral influence. Born in Mass. in 1819; died in 18S1. 

HOLMES, OLIVER WENDELL.— An American author, of 
many and distinguished powers; he is at once a physi- 
cian, college professor, poet, and essayist. His contribu- 
tions to American letters have been varied and valuable. 
His prose disputes with his poems for popularity. Born 
in Mass. in 1S09. 

HOOD, THOMAS.— A favorite English humorist and poet. 
The most skilled and audacious of punsters. His wit was 
always conspicuous, yet under it there ran a current of 
deep pathos. Born in 1798; died in 1815 

HOPE, JAMES BARRON.— A native of Virginia, and the 
author of a volume of poems published in 1857. 

HOPKINSON, JOSEPH.— An American poet, whose stirring 
lyric "Hail Columbia" has become a national anthem. 
Born in Pennsylvania in 177J; died in 1842. 

HOWE, JULIA WARD.— A talented American authoress; 
the wife of Samuel G. Howe, the philanthropist. Born in 
New York in 1S19. 

HOWELLS, WILLIAM DEAN.— A novelist whose writings 
have won him a distinguished place among American 
men of letters. For several years he was editor of the 
"jAtlantic Monthly." Born in Ohio in 1837. 

HOWITT, MARY.— An English writer of kindred tastes and 
pursuits with her husband, William Howitt. The lives and 
labors of the two were so lovingly blended that the his- 
tory recorded of one must include that of the other at 
every step. Born in 1S01. 

HOWITT, WILLIAM.— An Englishman of letters, whose lit- 
erary fame is inextricably associated with that of his 
wife, Mary Howitt. He was a prolific author, his writings 
embracing prose and verse. Born in 1795 ; died in 1879. 

HOWLAND, MAY W.— Born in 1832; died in 1864. 

HOYT, RALPH.— A clergyman of the Episcopal Church in 
New York City, and writer of prose and verse. Born in 
1S0S; diedinlS78. 

HUGHES, JOHN.— An English poet and essayist. Bom in 
1677 ; died in 1720. 

HUNT, LEIGH.— A prominent man of letters in his period. 
The associate of Coleridge, Lamb, Byron, Shelley, and 
other men of note. His pen was employed with skill in 
■various departments of writing. Born in London in 1784; 
died in 1859. 

INGE LOW, JEAN.— An English poet and novelist, whose 
writings have had a wide circulation and high favor. 
Born in 1830. 



INGERSOLL, ROBERT G.— An American, of national repute 
for his oratory. Born in Illinois, in 1832. 

IRVING, WASHINGTON.— An American author peculiarly 
honored and beloved by his countrymen. His gentle and 
genial nature, together with the beauty of his writings and 
the early fame he gave to American literature, cause his- 
memory to be fondly cherished. He was a prolific writer 
and his works were received with universal applause. 
Born in New York in 1783; died in 1859. 

JACKSON, HELEN HUNT.— An American author, who^e- 
prose and poetical writings are characterized by ardent 
imagination and a facile command of language. It is 
doubtful if as a poetess she has a rival among her 
countrywomen. Has written chiefly over the signature 
" H. H." Born in Mass. in 1831. 

JEFFERSON, THOMAS.— Third President of the United 
States, author of the Declaration of Independence, 
founder of the •University of Virginia, and author of the 
Virginia statute for establishing religious freedom. Born, 
in Virginia in 1743; died in 1S26. 

JENNER, DR. EDWARD— An English physician famous a» 
the discoverer of the system of inoculation as a prevent- 
ive to small-pox. Born in 1749; died in 1823. 

JERROLD, DOUGLAS.— An English author distinguished 
for brilliant wit. Several of his comedies have a perma- 
nent popularity. Born in 1S03; died in 1857. 

JOHNSONT, SAMUEL. — A renowned English author and' 
lexicographer. A man of extraordinary power of mind 
and of eccentric character. He struggled with poverty 
for many years, and with disease all his lite, yet by his- 
literary achievements and his dictatorial disposition he 
became the intellectual autocrat of his day. Born in 1709 ; 
died in 1784. 

JONES, AMANDA T.-An American poet and philanthro- 
pist; author of a number of magazine pieces, and of a. 
volume of poems published in 1867, and "A Prairie Idyl, 
and Other Poems," published in 18S2. Her poetry is the 
work of a deeply reflective spirit, and is marked by great- 
sincerity and purity of expression. 

JONES, SIR WILLIAM.— A famous English scholar and 
jurist. Born in 1716; died in 1794. 

JONSON, BEN.— One of the greatest of the English drama- 
tists, a contemporary of Shakespeare, and, during tlieir 
lifetime, a rival. He produced more than fifty dramas- 
and works. Born in 1574; died in 1637. 

KEATS, JOHN.— A poet of great promise, whose life was* 
unfortunately brief. His "Endymion" . was published 
when he was twenty-two, and the " Eve of St. Agnes " and 
minor poems two years later. Had he reached maturity, 
there is reason for believing he would have added another 
to the list of great English poets. Born in 1795; died 
in 1821. 

KEBLE, JOHN.— An English clergyman and poet, whose 
sacred lyrics, the expression of a sanctified life, gained 
him the reverent regard of men of all denominations. 
Born in 1792; died in 1866. 

KEMBLE, FRANCES ANNE.— Daughter of Charles Kemble, 
the actor, and niece of Mrs. Siddons Distinguished in- 
early life for histrionic talent, and, later, as a writer of 
poems, sketches of travel, and personal reminiscences.. 
Born in London in 1811. 

KEY, FRANCIS SCOTT.— An American poet, whose one 
memorable song, " The Star-Spangled Banner, " was com- 
posed in 1814, during the bombardment of Fort McHenxy, 
when the author was a prisoner in the hands of the at- 
tacking British. Born in Maryland in 1779; died in 1S43. 



BIOGRAPHIES OF AUTHORS. 



-,;,-, 



KIMBALL, HARRIET M.-An American poetess, whose de- 
votional lyrics are characterized by a true poetic quality 
and an artistic finish. Born In New Hampshire in 1634. 

KiN'. -i i "i , '< ii IRLES.— An eminent English divine, novel- 
,,,i poet. A man ol brilliant talents, whoso earnest 

work in Hi'' church and in behalf ol tlic English i e 

give ii i in in honorable a distinction as did his fervenl ami 
eloquent writings. The magnet! i ■< Btrangc and In- 
tense nature was t » ■ 1 1 in all la- < 1 i - 1 aial WTOte. Bom ill 
1819; died In 1875. 

KINNEY, COATE8.— An Ameilcan port ami miscellaneous 
writer. Boi n in New Jfoi i. in 1836. 

KNuw LEB, JAMES SHERIDAN.— An occompllshi .1 British 
dramatist, actor, ami theologian. Among In- bui 
plays are " William Toll," "\ Irginlus," "The Hnnchback," 
■i lie w Ife," etc. Born in Ireland in I7"i ; died in 1883. 

KNOX, WILLIAM.— A Scotch poet, whose memorj i- kept 
green bj the pensive lyric, " Oh, Whj Should tho Spirit of 
Mortal i.e Proud ?" Born in 1789; died in i --■'■. 

LACOSTE, MARIE R.— A teacher, whose only published 
writing i- the touching poem, "Somebody's Darling." 
Bora m Georgia in 1843. 

LA mil K)N, VLB1 i: r -An American poet, a cousin ol Mrs. 
Delia Thaxter. Bora in New Uampshiro in i~-' '. 

LAMB, i II IRLES.— Tlio mosl popular o1 English est 
His writings are marked by adcllcate, quaint humor which 
is peculiarly captivating. Hi- character was ex] 
by the title, " Gentle Ella." Boru in 1775; died in 1834. 

LAMB, MARY. — Ister of Charles Lamb, and 1 

nd literary efforts. Born i i 1705; * i « - ■ i 
in 1847. 

LANDOR, W \i ri i: - w VG1 .—An I 
Lancous writer, whoso stylo was orl in tl, antiqu , and per- 
fect. Ili-i •• Imaginary Conversations " tonn tho enduring 

basis ol in- 1 yel his poems evince power, and some 

of thorn have enjoyed gi at populai'ity. B in 177s 

died in IS04. 

LANIER, SIDNEY.— An American poel an i prose 'writer, 
whose lire wascul Bliorl in the mldsl ol an honored and 
useful e;n ecr in lltcratui o. Besides munj i 
and several volumes for the young, ho lefl a substantial 

ise upon "Tho - 
upon "Tho Development ol tho English Novel." Born iu 
i in 1843; died In 1881. 

LARi OM, LUCY.— An American writer of note. Vtom 
a factory operative, afterwards o teacher, and dually 
wholly devoted to literature. Born in Mass. in l --.v.. 

LATHROP, GEORGE PARSONS.— An American Journalist 
and poet. At one time assistant editor of tho " VI 

Monthly," afterwords editoi' ol tl Boston Courier." 

Hiswifeisa daughter ol Nathaniel Hawthorne Bi 
the Sandw ich Islands In 1851. 

LAWRENCE, JONATHAN, Jr.— An American poet. Bom 
In New York in 1807; died in 1883. 

LEIGHTON, ROBERT.— A Scotch poet of true inspiration. 
Born In 1832; died in 1869. 

LELAND, CHARLES GODFREY.— Author of the "Hans 
Breitman Ballads," and translatoi ol a number of Heine's 
pieces from tho German. Born in 1824. 

LEWES, GEORGE HENRY.— Tho well-known English philo- 
sophical, scientific, and miscellaneous writer, and founder 
Of the "Fortnightly Review." Tho husband of .Marian 
Evans, the novelist. His chief work- are "The Life of 

Goethe" and - Problems of Life and Mind." Born in lsl7; 
died in 1878. 



LINCOLN, UIRAHAM.— Sixteenth President ol 

Mate-, a man who rose from ihe humblest origin. En- 
dowed with strong common Bense, tender feeling, great 

energy and ambition, ket a Ben f humor, and pure 

Iples. He n as one ol i he mosl remarkable ehu 
America has produced, and i- cherished fondly in tho 
hearts ol his countrymen. Was horn in 

i, .i by J. Wilkes Booth In 1865, Bhortlj after 
md term ••! his administration. 
LING \RD, J< "UN.— An English historian of high rank. Born 

in 1771 ; died iii 1851. 
LOG \N. JOHN —A Scotch divine and poet. Horn in 1748J 

III 17". 
LONGFELLOW, HENRY W VDSWORTH.— Tlio most popular 
ol American poets. Hisnameisnotonly dear to liiscoun- 

, , high esteem by all Ei 
His poems are transparent iu thought, tendi r in 
meat, and perfect In rythm, and are adapted to univi i sal 
favor. Boi d iu Maine in 1807; dii d in 1882. 
LOVi i \i i.. RI< HARD.— An English cavalier poet, who 
, , the service ol the ki 
much suffering, died Iu extreme povcity. Borni 

LOVER, SAMUEL.— A humorous Irish port, and novelist. 
u j iccessful lecturer, giving entertainments mad p 
. i Irish life. Bora iu 1797; died 

l.nw ELL, i VMES i:i SSELL— One ol tho mosl emiucnl of 

ricun scholars, ] s, and writers. His critical 

evince « ido reading and one discrimination, w Idle tin ir 

Btylt I captivating. His l 

poems, chlel ol which are tho "Biglow Papers," are racy 
and witty to a rai'e degree, and his mora serious poetical 
writiu - are distinguished i tin 1819. 

LUDLOW ii i/ Hi (.11.— An American author of lino natural 
ai.ii m untimely victim to tho habit of 

opium-eating. Born In Now STork in 1837; dii U in 1870. 

i.i NT, GEORGE —An American poet. Born in Mass. in 1807. 

I.VI.V. JOHN.— Called tlio " Euphuist" A di'amatist, 
affected writ! i Icious example iu English liter- 

atim 

\.\ i p. HENRI i i: \ni is.— \ Scotch poet and divine. The 
last and finest ol Ids poems was the beautiful hymn, 
"Abide \\ ith Me." Bora iu 1783; died in 1847. 

Li i rON, SIB EDWARD BULWER— A leading English nov- 

WllOSO works at one time ranked with til 

era; and Dickens, bul im e since decii I i i 

tl as a man ol tetters by dint ■ 
bitii ius and en ral Iter than by an inborn crea- 
tive genius. Hi- three dru s, "Richelieu," "Lady of 

Lyons," and " Money," have had great success ape 
died in 1-7::. 

IA i TON, ROBERT BULWER (Owen Meredith:).— Only son 
of Lord Lyttou. A poet and diplomatist. His mosl popu- 
lar work is the pocmol "LuciUe." Was Viceroj ol India 
from l87Gto 1880. Born in 1831. 

MA i VULAY, CHOMAS BABINGTON, LOI5D.-\n eminent 
English historian, essayist emarl iblc elo- 

quence it\ convi rsation and writing, nis works have had 
an enormous sale. His"Historj of England" was read 
with the eagerness of an exciting novel, and ins essays 
and poem- have had a similar popularity. Iio"' in 1800;. 
died in 1859. 

MACCARTHY, DENIS FLORENCE.— An Irish poet. Bom 
10; died in 1882. 

MACDOXALD, GEORGE— A British novelist and poet„ 
whose- writings arc esteemed for their pure teachings- 
Born in 1825. 



536 



BIOGEAPHIES OF AUTHOKS. 



MACE, FRANCES LAUGHTON.— An American writer, con- 
tributing to leading periodicals. Her hymn, " Only Wait- 
ing," is widely popular. Born in Maine in 1836. 

MACKAY, CHARLES.— A Scotch poet and journalist. Author 
of many spirited and familiar poems. Born in 1812. 

MAHONY, FRANCIS (Father Prout).— An Irish poet and 
priest, witty, scholarly, and mild. His " Reliques " is a 
most delightful book. Born in 1804; died in 1866. 

.MANN, HORACE.— A noted American educationist, whose 
services in behalf of popular education in America 
merit the nation's gratitude. Born in Mass. in 1796; died 
in 1S59. 

MARLOWE, CHRISTOPHER.— An English dramatist, con- 
temporary with Shakespeare, and born in the same year, 
1561; died in 1593. 

MARSTON, JOHN.— An English dramatist, and friend of 
Ben Jonson. Born in 1600; died in 1634. 

MARTLNEAU, HARRIET.— An eminent English author, 
whose writings range through the departments of his- 
tory, politics, social economy, and fiction. Her stylo is 
clear and lively, securing her works a deserved popularity. 
Born in 1802; died in 1876. 

MARVEL, ANDREW.— Distinguished chiefly as a political 
writer, but also a writer of verse. Born in 1620; died 
in 1678. 

MASSE Y, GERALD— An English poet, who endured in child- 
hood the hardships and miseries of a factory operative. 
Born in 1828. 

Mc(_ REERY, J. L. — An author whose fame rests upon his 
beautiful poem, " There is no Death." The piece has been 
widely attributed to Bulwer, but is contained in a volume 
of McCreery's poems, published in this country, and is 
undoubtedly his. 

MCLEAN, KATE SEYMOUR— A writer of good poetic gifts, 
but who has published sparingly. A resident of Ontario, 
GawuJa. 

McMASTER, GUY HUMPHREY— An American poet. Born 
in New York in 1829. 

MEEK, ALEXANDER BEAUFORT.— An American lawyer, 
journalist, and poet. Author of the spirited poem on 
Balaklava. Born in South Carolina in 1814; died in Geor- 
gia in 1SC5. 

MERRICK, JAMES.— An English clergyman and poet. Born 
in 1720; died in 1763. 

MILLER, JOAQUIN.— An American poet and novelist. His 
youth was passed in the rough pioneer life of the Pacific 
coast. After publishing his first volume of poems, he was 
lionized in English society. Born in Indiana in 1S41. 

MILLER, WILLIAM.— A Scotch poet, author of "Willie 
Winkie;" an artist in wood-turning. Bom in 1S10; died 
in 1872. 

MILNES, RICHARD MONCKTON (LORD HOUGHTON). — An 
English statesman and author. Favorably known by his 
poems and by his amiable personal character. Born 
in 1809. 

MILTON, JOHN.— Next to Shakespeare, the greatest English 
poet. Author of " Paradise Lost," an epic poem ranking 
with Homer's "Iliad" and Dante's "Inferno." Some of 
his minor poems, as notably the "Allegro" and " Pcnse- 
roso," arc masterpieces of thought and diction. In prose, 
Milton evinced an equal power, his political writings 
exerting a special influence on his times. His character 
partook of the stateliness and grandeur of his writings. 
His later j ears, including the period of the production of 
"Paradise Lost" and "Paradise Regained," were passed 
in total blindness. Born in 1608; died in 1674. 



MONTGOMERY, JAMES.— A Scotch poet and journalist, 
who was twice fined and imprisoned for offensive political 
writings. His devotional poetry was of a high merit, 
many pieces being adopted into the hymnology of all 
Christian denominations. Born in 1771 ; died in 1854. 

MOORE, CLEMENT O— An American poet and scholar; son 
of Bishop Moore of the Episcopal Church. His poem, " A 
Visit from St. Nicholas," is universally familiar. Born in. 
New York in 1799; died in 1863. 

MOORE, THOMAS —A famous Irish poet, the friend of 
Byron, and a social favorite. His talent was very preco- 
cious and prolific. He wrote with remarkable ease, and 
his songs, set to Irish melodies, were sung by him with 
much effect. "Lalla Rookh" is his chief work, and was 
one of the most successful and pecuniarily profitable 
poems ever published. Born in 1779 ; died in 1 852. 

MORE, HANNAH.— An English writer of great distinction 
in her day. The contemporary of Johnson, Cowper, and 
Scott, and the friend of Garrick. Her writings were of a 
distinctively moral character, and did much to elevate 
the standard of purity in England. Her works comprise 
dramas, poems, essays, and tales. Born in 1745; died 
in 1833. 

MORRIS, CHARLES.— A British naval captain, who pub- 
lished many songs, none at all equal to his " Toper's. 
Apology." Born in England in 1749; died in 1838. 

MORRIS, GEORGE P.— An American poet. Authorof "Wood- 
man, Spare that Tree," "My Mother's Bible," etc. Born 
in Pennsylvania in 1802; died in 1864. 

MORRIS, WILLIAM —An English poet and artist, prominent 
in the school of the prc-Raphaelites. His " Earthly Para- 
disc " recalls the poet Chaucer, in the simple naturalness 
of its language and versification. Born in. 1834. 

MOSS, THOMAS.— An English clergyman, known only by 
his poem, called "The Beggar." Born in 1740; died 

MOULTON, LOUISE CHANDLER.— A brilliant American 
■writer and naturalist. Has contributed largely to maga- 
zines, and at one time literary criticisms to the New York 
; ' Tribune." Born in Connecticut in 1835. 

MUHLENBERG, WILLIAM AUGUSTUS. — An American 
clergyman and poet, grandson of the founder of the 
German Lutheran Church in this country. Born in Penn- 
sylvania in 1796; died in 1877. 

MUNBY, ARTHUR J.— An English poet, author of "Doris" 
and other charming pieces. His first volume appeared in 
1S65; his "Dorothy," a long elegiac poem, published in 
1SS2, was less favorably received than his shorter works. 
Born in 1837. 

NAIRNE, LADY.— A Scottish poetess of exquisite tenderness, 
as evincedby " The Land o' the Leal," and other beautiful 
poems. Born in 1766; died in 1845. 

NEWMAN, JOHN HENRY.— An eminent English scholar 
and theologian. Prominent in the Tractarian movement 
in the Church of England. Afterwards made Cardinal 
in the Roman church. Born in 1801. 

NOEL, THOMAS.— An English country gentleman, who 
published in 1841 a volume of " Rhymes and Roundelays," 
winch included " The Pauper's Drive," the poem by which 
he is chiefly known. 

NORTHRUP, B. G.— An American clergyman and poet. 
Born in Conn, in 1817. 

NORTON, CAROLINE ELIZABETH SARAH. —An English 
poetess; the grand-daughter of Sheridan; of great per- 
sonal beauty and brilliant talents. Born in 1808; died 
in 1877. 



BIOGRAPHIES OF A! I MORS. 



537 



O'HARA, THEODORE A Kentucklan, author ol tlm fa- 
mous poem," Bivouac of tho Dead," written o 
of ii»- inten lent, at Frankfort, Ky., of the soldiers ol that 
State who fell at Buena Vista. Born in 1820; died in 1867. 

OKI. ii. i.i ..I'M in B05 US.— An Irish patriot and 

lor sedition and sent to the penal colony ol Australia, 

in- escaped to America, and hecumo editor of "Thi Piiot," 

published in Boston. Boi u in 1844. 
OSBORNE, SELLECK —An American Journalist and pint, 

Born in 17~;; died in 1826. 
OSGOOD, i i: VNi ES S.— An American poetess. Born I 

in 1812; died in 1880. 
OTis m.w CON 6.— A i. sideni .m Brooklyn, N. V. Born 

in 1836. 
I'M. i . EMILY R — An American writer, who died at the 

early ageoi twenty-two. Her poem ol "The Old Canoe" 

was widely credited to Albert Pike. Born In Vermont in 

1838; died in I860. 
PALFREY, SABAH HAMMOND. -An American writer; 

daughter ol the historian, J. G. Palfrey. 
PALMER, .urns WILLIAMSON \ physician and poet, 

known principally by his famous piece on "Stonewall 

Jackson's Way " Born in Balth > about 1828. 

I'M. Ml. i;, WILLIAM rill. Vutl i "The smack in 

School," oil-. Born in Mass, in 1809. 
PARDOE, JULIA.— An English author, whoso numerous vol- 

umesol travel, fiction, ami historical memoirs nut with 

much favor. Born in 1806; died in 1862. 
PARKER, i DORE — A ruinous American preacher, 

poet, and linguist Ha i- chiefly known a- an ordenl re- 
former ami an eloquent advocate "i Blmplo theism in 

rehgion. Born In Muss. In 1810; died > 
PATMORE, ( u\ EN i in - \ i ivoriti i i I si poet Author 

of "The Angel In the House." Born In 1823. 
PAULDING, JAMES K.— An American statesman and man 

of letters. A proline writer ol prose and verse. Born in 

PAYNE, JOHN HOWARD.— An American dramatl 
actor, cliloflj known bythepopulur and exquisitely touch 
Ing poem, " Home, Sweet Homo." Born in Net* York in 

17:'-'; ill. .i in i-.j. 
i-i siaihi, v. ii. -\n eminent teacher ami educator, ami 

writer upon scientific subjects. Born in Vermont In 
PEALE, RE MBit INDT.— An eminent American painter, ami 

also an ant Inn- of note. Born InPenn. in 1778; died in 1860. 

PENN, WILLIAM.— The founder of Pennsylvania, ami on 
able exponent of the doctrines ol the Society ol Friends. 
After establishing hi- colony in America, la- returned to 

England in 1684, anil took an active part in political 
affaire, enjoying the favor ol James II His writings were 
numerous and much esteemed. Born in 1644; died in 1718, 

PERCIVAL, JAMES GATES— An accomplished American 
scholar ami poet, <>t recluse habits i eccentric char- 
acter. Born in Conn, in 1795; died In 1896. 

PERRY, NOR V.— An American poetess; author of the popu- 
lar piece, " Alter the Hall." Horn in Rhode Island. 

PHELPS, EGBERT.— A son of U.S. senator Phelps, of Ver- 
mont. A teacher, officer in the regular army, andafter- 
wards a successful lawyer in Illinois. Horn in l- ;-. 

PHELPS, ELIZABETH STUART.— An American prose ami 
poetical wilier, whoso a brks are « Idely read. " The Gates 
Ajar" established her literary reputation in I860, and she 
has since produced a number of popular novels and con- 

ti Minted largely to the leading maguzines. Bom iu Mass. 

in 1-41. 

II \ I I . don.— An American journalist and poet. Born in 

Ohio in 1829. 
PIATT, JOHN JAMES.— An American poet uud prose writer. 

Born in Indiana in 1831. 



PIATT, SALLIE M. B.— An American poetess, wife of John 

James I'iatt. Horn in Kentucky in 1- -'>. 
PIERPONT, .mi IN— An American clergyman, prominent in 

the cause oi ami -slavery ami ol temperance reform. Born 

in 1785; dii d in !-<;•.. 
PIKE, ALBERT.— For many years a resident ol Arkansas, 

ami noted there as a brilliant ami eloquent lawyer, as 

well as poet and journalist Horn in Ma--, in I-... 

in I. WILLIAM.— An English Bhip-builder, » lied at 

•Malta in 1810. Hi- amusing poein ol " 1 he Sailor's I onso- 
lation " i- in many colli ctions t redited to< hai'les Dibdin. 

I '■ » J - . EDGAR ALLAN.— An American poet ol rare and 
unique genius. The best ol his writings luive been trails- 
i !'• d into all the European lauguages. Mi- ramo, -h^ht 
during in- lifetime, lias increased greatly since his death. 
in k< ■ n -. nsib'ility, delicate organization, Irregular habits, 
and unhappy fate, the incident- ol hi- life have exc ited 
the deepest interest, while they have been subjected to 
conflicting interpretations. Born iu 1809; dii d iu 1849. 

POLLOK, ROBER1 -AnEnglish poet and divine. His prin- 
cipal poem was "The i ourseol time." Born in 1799 

in I-J7. 

POPE, \i I \ \ni.i R.— One of themi 
li-ii poi i-. ih- \. i-e u .,- moulded with consummate art, 
and throughout in- century was r< -aided as mi expres- 
sion • •! the 1 -t genius. But it was monotonous in us 

polished construction, was wanting in the passion which 

Speaks n heart to heart, and ha- -.in. n d an inevitable 

decline In favor. Born iu 1688; died in 1744. 

PORT! R, NOAH.— An American scholar mid author, elev- 
enth rn sideni o - Born In Conn, in 1811. 

l-ii\\ i i:-. n.,i;\ i i<> nii SON.— An Ami rica 

i piscopal Church, aud an accomplished poet and man 
ol letters. Was an intimate friend ol the poet Bryant, 
and author ol an excellent memoir ol liiin. Pastoi ..i a 
church iii Bridgi port, I onu. Born In Nc« Vork In !--'•;. 

PRENTII E, GEORGE D.— An American journalist and poet 
ol great repute iu his day. Editor ol the Lo 
"Journal." B in < onnecticul in 1802; died in 1870. 

PROCTER, ADELAIDE \wi._\,, Euglis tess, the 

icroi Biyan Waller Procter (Barry CornwaU). Her 
poem- are tender, serious, and imbued with a delicate 
fancy. Born in 1825; died m 1864. 

PROCTER, BRYAN WALLER (BAKRY CORNWALL).— An 
English poet and bamster-at law. Many ot his songs 
me popular favoi it -. Born in 17 0; died in 1874. 

PROCTOR, EDNA DEAN.— An Vmerit an poetess and miscel- 
laneous writer. Born iu New Hampshire. 

PUNSHON, WILLIAM UORLEY.— A popular English 
preacher Ol the W I Sleyau denomination. Horn in 1824. 

QUARLES, 1 i; V.NI IS. lisb poet Hi- "Em- 

blems" are very widely known. Born in 1592; died in 1644. 

RALEIGH, SIR WALTER— A famous English discoverer, 
sailor, soldier, and courtier. short poems 

attributed with tolerable certainty to him, but his prose 
writings contain the best evidence of his genius. Born 

in 1552, beheaded by .Jam.- I. in li'.l-. 

RANDALL, JAMES R— An American poet and journalist; 
author ol " My Maryland," one oi the most stirring lyrics 
of the American civil war. Born in Maryland in 1839, 

READ, THOMAS BUCHANAN.— An American painter and 
poet, excelling in lyrics, of which one, " Sheridan's itidc," 
had sufficed to give him national lame. Born in Penn- 
sylvania in 1822; died in 1872. 

EEALF, RICHARD.-A gilted but unfortunate poet, who 
emigrated from England to America at the age of twenty, 
and ua- associated with John Brown in the politicals 
strife in Kansas. Born in 1834; diedinlS7& 



538 



BIOGRAPHIES OF AUTHORS. 



REDDEN, LAURA C. (Howard Glyndon).— An American 
poetess. Born in Maryland about 1810. 

HIGH, HIRAM.— An American poet and magazine con- 
tributor. Born in Mass. in 1832. 

RICHARDS, WILLIAM C— A poet of English birth, resident 
in America since youth. A clergyman, journalist, and 
popular lecturer on chemistry. Born in 1817. 

ROBERTSON, FREDERICK W.— A distinguished English 
clergyman, whose sermons and lectures have made him 
widely known. Born in 1816; died in 1853. 

ROBERTSON, WILLIAM. -An eminent Scotch historian, 
whose works rank with those of Hume and Gibbon. Born 
in 1721 ; died in 1793. 

ROGERS, SAMUEL.— An English poet and banker, distin- 
guished in the literary and social life of London. His 
chief poems are " The Pleasures of Memory" and "Italy." 
Born in 1763 ; died in 1855. 

ROSSETTI, CHRISTINA G. — An English poet, sister of 
Dante Gabriel Rossetti. 

ROSSETTI, DANTE GABRIEL. — An English painter and 
poet, one of the originators of the Pre-Raphaelite school 
of painting. Born in 1828; died in 1SS2. 

RUSKIN, JOHN.— The great English art critic and writer. 
His works have had a profound influence on the age, 
exciting admiration by their impassioned eloquence and 
elevating the standard of morals by their lofty teachings. 
There is nothing in the prose literature of our language 
equalling in magnificence and splendor some of his de- 
scriptions of nature, and nothing more impressive than 
some of his terse declarations of the duty of men. Born 
in 1819. 

RUSSELL, WILLIAM H.— A distinguished English news- 
paper correspondent, familiarly known as " Bull Run 
Russell," from his report of the battle of that name in 
18(>1. Born in Ireland in 1821. 

RYAN, ABRAM T. (Father Ryan).— A Catholic clergyman 
of Alabama, who has published a volume of verse, much 
of it of excellent quality. 

RYAN, RICHARD.— A Scotch poet. Born in 1706; died in 



SANGSTER, MARGARET E. M.— An American poet. Born 
in 1858. 

SARGENT, EPES.— An American poet and journalist. Edited 
a series of school-books— speakers, readers, and spellers, 
which have been extensively used. Born in 1812; died 
in 1880. 

SAXE, JOHN GODFREY.— One of the most popular of the 
humorous poets of America. Born in Vermont in 1816. 

SCOTT, SIR WALTER.— A Scotch poet and novelist, a man 
of wonderful, vigorous, and fecund genius, whose works 
enjoyed an immense popularity in their day, securing him 
a splendid reward in wealth and fame. His reputation 
was founded on his poems and crowned by the series of 
Waverly novels. Born in 1771 ; died in 1832. 

SHAKESPEARE, WILLIAM.— A name which stands above 
all others in the literature of England or of the world. 
His works are an inexhaustible treasury of great thoughts 
delivered with marvelous expression. They comprise 
thirty-seven plays, the poems of " Venus and Adonis," 
and "Tarquin and Lucrece," and 134 sonnets. Born in 
1564; died in 1616. 

SHANLEY, CHARLES DAWSON.— Author of the famous 
poem, " Civil War," which appeared originally in London 
" Once a Week." Born in 1830; died in 1876. 



SHELLEY, PERCY BYSSHE.— A great English poet, whose 
genius was underestimated during his lifetime on account 
of the liberal social and religious views which he pro- 
claimed. His successive writings show a continual devel- 
opment of his powers, but his life was cut short before 
they were matured. Born in 1792 ; died in 1 S22. 

SHENSTONE, WILLIAM.— An English pastoral poet and 
miscellaneous -writer. Born in 1714 ; died in 1763. 

SHILLABEtf, B. P. (MRS. Partington).— A popular Ameri- 
can humorist. By profession a journalist, his humorous 
sketches and sayings originally appeared in the news- 
paper press, and afterwards had an immense sale m book 
form. Born in 1814. 

SHIRLEY, JAMES.— A celebrated writer of tragedies, com- 
edies, and poems. Born iiiEngland in 1596; died in 1666. 

SIDNEY, SIR PHILIP.— A courtly knight adorning Queen 
Elizabeth's reign. His bright talents were overshadowed 
by his manly and lovely personal traits. Honored and 
admired universally, he trod from his cradle to his grave 
amid incense and Mowers. Born in 1554; died in 15S6. 

SIMMS, WILLIAM GILMORE.— An American poet and nov- 
elist, whose writings embrace a list of sixty volumes. 
Born in South Carolina in 1806; died in 1870. 

SMITH, CHARLOTTE.— An English poetess, whose life was 
full of hardship and sorrow, the result of an unhappy 
marriage. Born in 1749; died in 1806. 

SMITH, HORACE.— A celebrated English wit and writer, 
associated with his brother James in the production of 
" The Rejected Addresses." Bom in 1779 ; died in 1819. 

SMITH, MAY RILEY.— An American poet and miscellaneous 
writer. Born in New Y'ork in 1842. 

SMITH, SERA.— An American journalist, poet, and prose 
writer, displaying a rich vein of humor in some of his 
works. Born in Blaine inT792 ; died in 1868. 

SMITH, SYDXEY.— A political writer, humorist, critic, and 
preacher, of extraordinary talents. Born in England in 
1771; died in 1815. 

SMOLLETT, TOBIAS G.— A popular English novelist, the 
author of a few short poems of much merit. Born in 1721 ; 
died in 1771. 

SOM ERVI LLE, WILLIAM.— An English poet. Born in 1677; 
died in 1742. 

SOULE, JOHN B. L.— A clergyman of the Presbyterian de- 
nomination; prominently connected with educational 
interests in Illinois. Author of a volume of poems, pub- 
lished in 1882. 

SOUT11EY, CAROLINE A. B.— An English poetess, the second 
wile of the poet Southey. Born in 1787; died in 1854. 

SOUTHEY", ROBERT.— One of the English Lake Poets, asso- 
ciated with Wordsworth and Coleridge, and a poet lau- 
reate. He was an able and laborious writer, and his 
works were voluminous and covered a wide range of 
topics. Born in 1774; died in 1843. 

SPENCER, WILLIAM ROBERT. — An English poet, who 
wrote chiefly " society verses." Born in 1770 ; died in 1831. 

SPENSER, EDMUND.— One of the foremost of England's 
poets, his name following next after Chaucer's. His writ- 
ings helped to make the Elizabethan era illustrious, and 
the chief of them, " The Fairy Queen," forms one of the 
treasures of our language. Bom in 1553 ; died in 1599. 

SPOFFORD, HARRIET PRESCOTT.— An American poet and 
prose writer. Has contributed largely to the magazines, 
and published several volumes. Born in Maine in 1S35. 

SPRAGUE, CHARLES.— An American, known as "the 
banker-poet," his long life having been almost entirely 
devoted to commercial pursuits. Bom in Mass. in 1791; 
died in 1876. 



BIOGR VPHIES OF AUTHORS. 



539 



6TEDMAN, i l>M( v.) CLARENCE.-Ono ol the foremost 
members oi the •' youngei suhool" of American men ol 
letters, of tbe period « lien Brj ant, Emerson, Longfellow, 

and Whittier represc d tlie older BCliool. Ho is dls- 

tufguishcd alike asapoctandacrltic. Hlspoctrj is marked 
by delicate funcy, purity of conception, and refined and 
artistic expression; ins critical writings, by deai 
liin |udgment, judicial spirit, and warm literary Bympa- 
tides. Author of a number of volumes In prose and 
verse, and a frequent conti Ibutorto tbe magazines. Born 
in ( !onn. in 1833. 

STEPHEN, J VMES. -An Engllsli barrister and author. A 
friend of WilbciTorcc, and Bjiarer ol ins religious and 
ant] slavery principles. Boi ninl759; dl din IS .:. 

STILL, JOHN.— An English divine, Bishop of Batli and 
Wells. Ant luu- ol oneol the earliest comedies in the lan- 
guage, ■•!.:, in ,,„r Guiton's Needle." Horn about 
died m iuis. 

STODDARD, CHARLES WARREN.— An American Journalist 
and traveler; for many years connected with tbe press 

1,1 San i mo. Ismail collection ol bis poems, printed 

in his youtb, attracted the attcntl i on and 

others; but lie soon ceased to write verse. Hi- prose, 
however. Is peculiarly rich and brilliant, 

STODDARD, RICH \i:i> in m;i \ . \,,, ,,, ,„„ 

and journalist. Most ol bis has been Bpi ... 

York City, devoted to « tinuous and ard - literary 

labors, ilis iir-r volume was published In 1842, and 

appeared acompleto edltl lis poems, forming a largo 

volume. Between these pe Is, a number ol his works, 

In prose and verse, were published. Ho has contributed 
i the posl ..i literary 
critic upon several leading New Vork journals. Born in 
Massachusetts I 

STORY, JOSEPH.— A celebrated American ludgo and law- 
writer: author ol "Commentaries oil 
Bom In 1779; <ii.-.i in 1845. 

BTORY, WILLIAM W -An Imerii ■■< poet and 
high onlcr of talent. Son i , story. Born 

in Muss, in Jslii 

BTOWE, HARRIET BEECHER- \„ imerican .„.■, 
world-wide popularl Dl ., Ly man 
Beecher, and sister ol Henry Ward Bcechcr. Her 
"Uncle Tom's Cabin" bos been translated into more lan- 
guages and sold i largely than anyothi 

written. Born in Connecticut in 1812. 

sn;l ' ''"■ u I RED B.-An American poet. Born In New 
York in 1811 ; died in 1 — 1. 

SUCKLING, SIR JOHN.- An English poi I and courtier, cele- 
brated in the times of Charles I. Born in iflOS); died in 1..11. 

BWAIN, CHARLES.-An English poel and engraver. His 
songs have had a considerable popularity. 
died In 1874. 

8WINB1 i:\i ALGERNON I riARLES.-Ono of the first Eng- 
llsh pons or \ ictoria's reign. Distinguished for ,i mar- 
velous command oi metrical forms. Horn in i- .;. 

swim;, k\\ id.— An eminent American clergyman, pastor 
"' n l: "'''' independent church InChica fo; and popular 
aslecturerand essayistnot less than preacher. Born in 

6YMONDS, JOHN ADDINGTON.-An English writer of na- 
,IV( ' talonl ami scholarly culture, in- "Studies of the 
Greek Poetry, in Two Scries," appeared in is;,;, and his 
great work on "The Italian Renaissance" a tow years 
Inter. 

J \NN Will. I.. ROBERT.-A Scotch poet. By trade a weaver; 

'"' nuo,ts I'lvolui i lyrics at the ago of sixty-three, 

which attained immediate popularity. Born in 1744 died 
in 1810. 



TAYLOR, BAYARD.— A distinguished American poet, nov 
ellst, joumulist, and traveler, whose works li ivo obtained 
■ ved popularity. Born in Pennsylvania in 1823; died 
had been appointed American Minis- 
ter, in 1878. 

TAYLOR, BENJAMIN P.— A brilliant American journalist, 

poet, and pi writer. Author of several successful vol- 

UmCS, in prose ami \ ei-se. Horn in N.-w York in i-:j. 

TA^ LOR, .1 \m:.— An English poetess, who singly mid with 
her sifter published several volumes ol poems. Her 
■■ ["winkle, '1' winkle. Little Star," is chanted 
in every nursery. Bora in 1783; died in 1824. 

TAYLOR, i"M -\ proline English author and dramatist, 
II. i- produced over a hundred plays, mnnyol which are 
iron the stago. » .- ai one time i ditor ol the fa- 
mous " Punch." Horn in 1-17. 

TENNYSON, ALFRED.- ol thogrpatesl 1 aglls etsof 

the present century, aud the poel luurcutosi the death 

'•' Wordsworth in 1 ea a i,,.-ii order 

tli a capacity tor the mosl 
lubor. in it thought and words aro exquisitely ad 1 

h other, producing almost tl 
form. 1 

'I'll M KERAY, w 11 II Wl \l 1KEPEAI I -\ 
novelist, the content] 
1 imonly .11 rted In 

the u 

ich originality 
and humor. H 

pieces showing enu power and feeling. Born in < ol- 

I in 1-11 ; died in 
'ill VXTER, 1 1 1.1 \ -An American writer, who I, 
manj ■.■ irsol her llfo upon Applcdoralslai 

ol Maine. Ileri is and pr » li tings are remarkable 

tor their n 
ami ti,,- aci 

with which she was surrounded on her island home. Bora 
'. Hampshire in 1- -', 

THOMSON, JAM1 3.-An English poet < stinetion, 

writings abound with beautiful descriptive p 
which givothcih permanent fame. Hischicl poem • 
those written upon tlio Seasons, ami " Thel 

hue.- " Bora in 1700; died in I7I-. 

THOMPSON, ED. POR1 1 1: ,— B |. \ 

prose am! poetry. 

Author 01 a " IliStOI ■ •■; ; ■ I 6 Ken) f Hi i udoof 

\iith- 
rcsidcnl oi Ai :. 
THOMPSON, JAMES MAI RIl I .- \ poel and magazinlst, 
resident in Indiana. Widely known through bis writings 

CCtOi archery. Horn in 1844. 

THOMPSON, JOHN B.— An American poet 

oi in. ui, iii talent,. Bora in Virginia In 1823; died in i-:.'. 
Tlh IREAU.HENRY! D.— An American poet, ami a naturalist 
<n original ami independent mind and solitary h 
He devoti d liimscll to obsei-vation ami refection rather 
than to writin and poetry betray tin- pro- 

found seer ami Hunker. Bom in Mass. in 1817 

in I-..'. 

TILTON, TMKODORE.-An American poet, journalist, and 
miscellaneous writer, of versatile ami brilliant ti 
Bora in New York in 1S35. 

TTMROD, HENRY.— An American poet, of considerable 
gifts. Born in SOUtll Carolina in 18211; died in 1807. 

TROWBRIDGE, JOHN TOWNSEND.-An American poet ami 
miscellaneous writer. A number of his poems and juve- 
nile stories have attained great popularity. Born in N'ew 
York in IS27. 

TUCKER, ST. GEORGE.— An American jurist, whose fame 
as a poel rests on the single poem, "Days of My Youth." 
Born in 1752; died in 1827. 



540 



BIOGRAPHIES OF AUTHORS. 



VAUG1IAN, HENRY.— A well-known Welsh poet and devo- 
tional writer. Born in 1021 ; died in 1G95. 

VERY, JONES.— An American poet, whose merits -were re- 
cognized by Emerson and a few acute critics, but whose 
poetry lias been slow in gaining the public appreciation 
that it disserves. A volume of his poems was published 
in 1883. Born in Mass. in 1S13; died in 18S0. 

WAKEFIELD, NANCY PRIEST.— An American poetess. 
Her poem of " Over the River," which appeared originally 
in the Springfield (Mass.) " Republican," has been remark- 
ably popular. Born in Mass. in 1837 ; died in 1870. 

WALLER, EDMUND.— An English poet of great popularity 
in his time, but now nearly forgotten. Born in 1605; died 
in 1687. 

WALLER, JOHN FRANCIS— An Irish journalist and bar- 
rister. Born in 1810. 

WALTON, IZAAK.— An English author of contemplative 
mind and gentle character. His "Complete Angler" 
holds a place among English classics. Born in 1593; died 
in 1683. 

WASHINGTON, GEORGE.— The first President of the United 
Scates. Honored by the title of "The Father of his 
Country." His abilities as a statesman and a military 
leader, and his virtues as a man, have gained him a high 
place among the great men of the Saxon race. Born in 
Virginia in 1732; died in 1799. 

WATTS, ISAAC— A celebrated English poet and independ- 
ent minister. The author of the first regular hymn-book 
used in public worship in England. For many years it 
superseded any other collection of sacred songs among 
the Dissenters in England and the Calvinists in America. 
Watt's hymns numbered about 800. Born in 1674; died 
in 1748. 

WEBSTER, DANIEL.— One of the greatest of American 
statesmen and orators. A man of immense brain-power, 
with far-reaching grasp of comprehension, intense 
energy and feeling, and a power of language adequate to 
the quick and eloquent expression of all his conceptions. 
He was the master-spirit in legislative debate during his 
lifetime. Born in Mass. in 17S2; died in 1S52. 

WEBSTER, JOHN.— A contemporary of Shakespeare, and 
one of the best Oi the minor dramatists of the Eliza- 
bethan era. Born about 1570 ; died in 1640. 

WEIR, HARRISON WILLIAM.— An English poet, artist, and 
naturalist, noted for his wood engravings of animals. 
The successful author of numerous juvenile works written, 
and illustrated by himself. Born in 1824. 

WHEELER, ELLA.— An American poetess, a resident of 
Wisconsin, who has contributed largely to the news- 
papers, and is the author of one or two volumes of verse. 

WHITE, HENRY KIRKE.— An English poet of promise, 
whose life was prematurely cut short by excessive study. 
Born in 17S5; died in 1806. 

WHITE, JOSEPH BLANCO— An Irish poet and prose writer. 
His "Night and Death" is regarded as one of the most 
perfect sonnets in the English language. Born in 1775; 
died in 1841. 

WHITMAN, WALT.— An American poet of eccentric genius. 
England lias been more ready to acknowledge his talent 
than his own country, but its strange expression, defying 
the acknowledged laws of poetry, has made it difficult; to 
pronounce upon its order or degree. Born on Long Island 
in 1819. 

WHITNEY, ADELAIDE D. T.— An American poet and nov- 
elist, whose writings have enjoyed much popularity. Born 
in Mass. in 1824. 

WHITTIER, ELIZABETH II.— An American poetess, sister 
of the poet, John G. Whittier, and his companion until 
her death. Born in Mass. in 1S15; died in 18'i4. 

WHITTIER, JOHN GREENLEAF— A distinguished Ameri- 
can poet, whose wrL-ngs breathe the purest spirituality, 
patriotism, and humanity. There is no poet of the time 
who dwells nearer the hearts of the people. His name is 
beloved and venerated. Born in 1S07. 



WILDE, LADY (Speranza).— An Irish poet, whose writings, 
have generally a political bearing. Mother of Oscar 
Wilde. Born about 1830. 

WILDE, OSCAR.— An Irish poet of very decided talents; his. 
personal affectations have subjected him to much public- 
ridicule, and prevented the recognition due his poetry. 
Born in Dublin in 1855. 

WILDE, RICHARD HENRY.— An Irish poet, resident most 
of his life in the United States. Was for twenty years a 
Member of Congress from Georgia. Born in 17S9; died 
in 1S47. 

WILLIAMS, MARIE B— An American prose and poetical 
writer of decided gifts and sincere devotion to literature. 
Born in Louisiana in 1826. 

WILLIS, NATHANIEL PARKER.— A distinguished Amer- 
ican journalist and poet. His writings were witty, grace- 
ful, and graphic. He allowed a social ambition to hinder 
the noblest use of talents of no common order. Born in 
Maine in 1S07; died in 1867. 

WILLMOTT, AVIS.— An English author, chiefly of devotional 
pieces. Died in 1S63. 

WILLSON f FORCEYTHE.— An American poet of marked 
originality, whose brilliant promise was cut short by his 
early death. His famous poem of "The Old Sergeant" 
first appeared as the Carrier's Address of the Louisville 
" Courier- Journal," in 1863. Born in New York in 1837; 
. died in 1867. 

WILSON, JOHN (Christopher North).— A Scotch poet and 
prose writer of splendid abilities. Nature endowed him 
prodigally with physical and mental gifts. Editor of the 
famous " Blackwood's Magazine," of Edinburgh. Born 
in 1788; died in 1S54. 

WINTER, WILLIAM.— For many years the musical and 
dramatic critic of the New York " Tribune," and a pleas- 
ing and accomplished verse-writer. Born in Mass. in 1836. 

WINTHROP, ROBERT C— An esteemed American states- 
man and author, Daniel Webster's successor in the U. S. 
Senate. Born in Mass. in 1809. 

WIRT, WILLIAM.— An eloquent American lawyer and 
writer. Born in Maryland in 1772; died in 1S34. 

WOLCOTT, JOHN.— An English poet, authorof many popu- 
lar humorous pieces, written chiefly over the signature of 
"Peter Pindar. Born in 1738; died in 1819. 

WOLFE, CHARLES.— An Irish divine and poet. His poem, 
" The Burial of Sir John Moore," was pronounced by Lord 
Byron " the most perfect ode in the language." Born in 
1791 ; died in 1823. 

WOODWORTH, SAMUEL— An American poet, remembered 
by a single vigorous lyric, " The Old Oaken Bucket." Born 
in Mass. in 1785; died in 1842. 

WOOLSEY, SARAH (Susan Coolidge).— A popular Ameri- 
can poet and prose writer. A niece of President Woolsey, 
of Yale College. 

WOOLSON, CONSTANCE FENIMORE.— An American wri- 
ter, who has gained a considerable ceicurity, both by her 
prose and verse. 

WORDSWORTH, WILLIAM.— A great English poet, whose 
works grew very slowly into favor, but finally have come 
to be esteemed among the most precious literary legacies 
bequeathed to the nineteenth century. Wordsworth is 
pre-eminently the poetof the reflective imagination. Was 
poet laureate of England, succeeding Southey. Born in 
1770; died in 1850. 

WOTTON, SIR HENRY.— An English poet and diplomatist. 
Born in 1568; died in 1639. 

YOUNG, EDWARD.— An English poet, most exclusively 
known by his poem, " Night Thoughts," which had a great 
popularity in his time. Born in 1684 ; died in 1705. 




014 013 957 9 



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